


Captain America: Forever

by Anonymous



Category: Black Widow (Movie 2020), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Dreams and Nightmares, Falling In Love, Friendship/Love, Loss, Love, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Wakanda (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:14:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 28,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25654213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The following takes place after Captain America: Civil War.Steve Rogers is having bad dreams. They always end the same way, with Bucky dead. Steve is worried. He can’t shake the feeling that the dreams are an omen. But Bucky is safe in Wakanda, waiting it out until a cure for his condition is found, right? Steve isn’t so sure anymore. All he knows is that the dreams haven’t sat right with him and he must find out why. Should he have left Bucky all alone in Wakanda? How does he really know that Bucky’s safe halfway across the world? And what are these new feelings for Bucky that have come over him recently, and how did they come to be? Steve sets out on a journey that will force him to face his true feelings for Bucky, one way or another, as he discovers the truth about his past and the real reason he was chosen to be Captain America all those years ago.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov & Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov, Wanda Maximoff & Steve Rogers, Wanda Maximoff/Sam Wilson
Kudos: 14
Collections: Captain America/James "Bucky" Barnes





	1. The Lake

**Author's Note:**

> This is my vision for what happens in the MCU after Civil War and how Stucky fits in. Stucky is the main plot point, however there are other things happening as well. Because of this, it takes a while for Bucky to appear in the story as a main character. Ultimately, Bucky appears in Chapter 16, and he will be preset for the rest of the story as Stucky forms. I expect the story to be around 40-50 chapters, or around 250-300 pages. November is novel writing month, so I expect to post fairly consistent updates, with the goal of finishing the story by the end of the month! Join me in my adventure!

CHAPTER 1: The Lake

It was a quiet morning on the lake. The sun reflected upon the still water and the birds tweeted softly overhead. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the surrounding trees. Steve and Bucky sat on a blanket near the bank, watching a mother duck and her ducklings pass by downstream. Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky’s bare chest, twirling his fuzz with his fingertips. Bucky leaned his body back into Steve’s, taking comfort in his warm embrace. 

“Do you think this moment will last?” Bucky asked. 

Steve ran his hand through Bucky’s long brown locks, contemplating the question. 

“I think...” Steve started, watching as the mother duck and her ducklings reached the bank on the opposite side of the lake. “... I think we can make it last… as long as we need it to.” 

Bucky tilted his head and looked down in shame. “I think I need it to last forever. I don’t think I'm strong enough to go back.” 

Steve kissed Bucky’s forehead, his pink lips sinking into his soft skin. Steve didn’t know what to say. He wanted to stay here forever with Bucky, but he knew that he had to go back... eventually. People were counting on him—his friends, his teammates, his country. He wasn’t the sort of person to shirk his duties, and he never would be. 

“You know I can’t stay forever,” Steve said. “I have work to do. I have to find the people that did this to you.” Steve grazed his hand along Bucky’s left bicep, feeling the coldness of the bionic arm. 

Bucky grasped Steve’s hand away, bringing it close to his chest and away from his metal arm. Bucky hated looking at it, much less knowing that the man he loved had to touch it every time they were intimate. It served as a constant reminder of their past traumas, of their failures. Bucky hadn’t blamed Steve for his fall all those years ago during the war, but he knew that Steve had blamed himself for it. 

“Steve... no.” Bucky said. “We have to move on. We know who was behind it. Arnim Zola. He’s dead, remember? Both his human and computer part.” 

Steve breathed in, exhaling loudly. 

Across the lake, the duck family had disappeared into the brush of the adjacent forest. A lone duckling walked up and down the bank, quacking loudly as he searched for his family. 

“There were more people involved— the ones that found you, programmed you, fed you, bathed you. I can’t accept that they hurt you too, that they were complicit. I’ll find them, they’ll all pay.” 

Steve sunk his head into Bucky’s neck, rubbing his clean-shaven face against Bucky’s stubble. 

“Listen to yourself, Steve. Revenge? That’s not you.” 

Bucky could feel Steve’s breath on his neck, hear his breathing getting louder and deeper, becoming unexpectedly angry, wild. Steve’s grip on Bucky’s hand tightened, growing painful. Something had suddenly changed in Steve, became feral. 

“Steve?” Bucky said anxiously. 

Steve whipped his hand against Bucky’s forehead, holding his head back while he sunk his teeth deep into Bucky’s neck, drawing blood. The blood dribbled out at first, but soon gushed out as Steve tightened his jaw muscles. 

Bucky cried out in pain and struggled to release himself from Steve’s grip. 

“Steve!” Bucky pleaded. 

Steve bit harder and locked his jaw down, ripping a large chunk of flesh and muscle out of Bucky’s neck. Steve released his grip from Bucky and seized the chunk in his hands, consuming it like a wild animal. Bucky stumbled forward and fell near the edge of the bank, his face plopping down into the mud. Bucky picked himself up, blood squirting from the large hole in his neck. He panted and coughed, trying to breathe through the pain. Across the lake, Bucky could see the lone duckling gliding down the lake, leaving its family behind, preparing to face the world on its own. 

Behind him, Bucky could hear Steve’s lips smacking, finishing his meal, his breathing turning into growls. 

“I need more,” Steve demanded. “I need you. It hurts not to have you inside me... your blood. Turn around and face me.” 

Bucky trembled, tears rolling down his face. He looked at the lone duckling, begging for it to help him somehow. 

“Now!” Steve yelled. 

Bucky obliged, struggling, slowly turning around to face him. Bucky was horrified by what he saw—Steve, his best friend, his lover, blood and saliva caked across his face, dripping down the sides of his mouth like a wild animal, like a thing, not human anymore. Bucky cried and closed his eyes, surrendering himself to the monster in front of him, it’s eyes suddenly glowing red as it lurched forward to consume its Bucky boy.


	2. The Dreams

Steve awoke in his bed in a pool of sweat. The nightmares had started one week ago, right after he returned from Wakanda. They’d gotten more violent over the past few days, more disturbing. They’d always taken place in the same spot by the lake. There was nothing particularly sinister about the location, but it had made Steve uneasy, nonetheless. He wasn’t particularly fond of bodies of water, having been frozen in one for seventy years, not to mention his near-death experience two years ago in the Potomac River at the hands of his best friend.

Steve sat up in his bed, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead and onto his smooth chest. His pecs and abdomen glistened with sweat, oscillating as he took in air, trying to catch his breath from the nightmare. He looked around the dark room, forgetting where he was for a second. Right, he thought—a small dingy apartment in Flushing, Queens. The curtain-less window to his left brought in a soft glow from the moonlight, illuminating his body like a Greek God.

Steve reached for a glass of water on the nightstand, gulping down every last drop. He returned the glass and tossed aside the covers, sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his thick thighs, crouching as he ran his hands through his soaked hair.

The dreams had always followed the same pattern. First, him and Bucky sitting on the bank in each other’s arms, happy. Then, a feeling of dread and ensuing destruction. The ducks were always there, in one form or another. When the nightmares had first started, the ducks had been the villains, mutating into giant monsters that had hunted him and Bucky throughout the forest. Other times they had transformed into small drones and shot at them. Now, Steve himself had become the villain, causing destruction, inflicting pain on his best friend. This had been the most vivid and disturbing dream yet.

One aspect of the dreams had always caught Steve off guard— his and Bucky’s romantic relationship. Bucky in his arms, the feeling of love between them. It wasn’t real, was it—those feelings? No, it couldn’t be. Sure, Steve had loved Bucky with all of his heart. Bucky was his best friend, his comrade, his confidant. But his romantic partner? Steve had never even considered it, let alone dreamt about it until now. Still, he couldn’t deny how good the beginning of the dreams had felt. It was as if he had finally found his place in the world, as if nothing could defeat them in that moment. Although the dreams had always ended the same horrible way, Steve wouldn’t change it if it meant he couldn’t experience those feelings again. He knew it was crazy—every night looking forward to a nightmare that would end in suffering, but it was worth it, just to have those few moments of peace holding Bucky in his arms.

Suddenly, a knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

“Hey Cap, you ok?” the voice asked through the door.

It was Wanda. She’d tried to hide her concern over the past few days, but Steve saw it in her face last night at the dinner table. That look of pity, like it hurt her knowing she couldn’t do anything to help. But she couldn’t. Things were bad, and Steve didn’t foresee resolution anytime soon. All he could do was continue to hope and fight and put on a brave face, something which he supposed he’d failed at recently. How could he not? His life hadn’t exactly gone smoothly the last few months. His relationship with Tony had been destroyed, his best friend was back on ice halfway across the world, he was on the run from the world government, and—to top it all off—he didn’t even have his shield. Steve Rogers was Captain America no more.

Steve rose from the bed and opened the door. Wanda stood there, hair matted against her face, eyes half open, wearing a long oversized red shirt and nothing else.

“I heard yelling,” she cracked, her voice waking up.

“Yeah, those next-door neighbors again. Sorry, I’ll close my window from now on,” Steve lied.

Wanda rubbed her eyes, almost fully awake now. Steve could see her gaze drifting down his body, ending on his crotch. Her eyes opened completely now. _Maybe I should have put pants on over my tighty whities?_

Wanda whipped her head back up, looking at him straight in the eyes.

“You are a horrible liar,” she said, stabbing his exposed chest with her index finger. “But I’ll forgive you since you wear that ridiculous underwear so well. You know, mankind has made great leaps in underwear technology since you’ve been gone. They have these things called boxers now. Also, trunks. Boxer-briefs, even.”

“Ha. Ha,” Steve replied sarcastically. “Thank you, Wanda. Now go get some sleep,” he oscillated his hand in a shooing motion.

“Goodnight, Cap.”

 _Cap_. It stung. He didn’t know if he could bear to hear it any longer. Was that who he was anymore? Is that who he wanted to be anymore?

“Wanda,” he said as she started to walk away, “please... don’t call me Cap anymore.” He was surprised the words had come out so easily, so soon. Was it the right call? He didn’t know, but he knew change was coming, and he might as well get ahead of the game before he was left in the ice again.

Wanda nodded, her face revealing an expression of sadness, yet understanding.

“Goodnight… Steve,” she forced a smile, walking back to her bedroom.

Steve closed the door and got back into bed, drifting off to a dreamless sleep.


	3. The Team

The next morning, Steve awoke to the sound of a pigeon cooing outside his window ledge. He caked his eyes open, squinting at the bright morning light. Steve turned his head toward the window and watched as the pigeon bobbed its blue-grey body up and down, peeking into the tiny room. It blinked its eyes and settled into a crouching position, freezing its body in place as their eyes locked. It belted out one last loud coo before quickly flying away. Odd. Steve was no stranger to city pigeons, having lived in Brooklyn most of his life. He knew they didn’t scare easily— not from a shooing hand or verbal harassment, let alone from a simple stare. And peeking inside of an apartment? Odd, indeed.

Steve quickly forgot about the pigeon, deciding there were more important matters to attend to. For starters, his morning stiffy poking up through the slit in his underwear. He looked down and grabbed his penis, feeling the comfort of his own warmth in his hand. He glided his thumb across the head, thinking about Peggy. Peggy in the shower, Peggy cooking him dinner, Peggy kissing him, Peggy, Peggy, Peggy. He stroked his member up and down slowly, taking pleasure in the pre-cum that began to dribble from his head, lubing his strokes.

Steve was getting close to climax when suddenly thoughts of Peggy were replaced with thoughts of Bucky. It was unexpected, but he had no choice but to go with it. His brain wouldn’t allow him to go back. He thought of holding Bucky by the lake, kissing his forehead. Bucky in the shower, Bucky cooking him dinner, Bucky kissing him, Bucky, Bucky, Bucky. Steve’s breaths accelerated as he stroked faster, a rush washing over every inch of his body. He squirted his hot load up into the air, half of it spraying onto his chin and lips, the other half gushing down onto his chest and abdomen. He exhaled, taking comfort in the sticky warmth and solace that followed. He glanced down at his body, content with the glorious mess he had made. Steam swirled from the pools of cum, their color quickly changing from milky white to translucent.

Steve returned his deflating penis through the slit in his tighty whities and slid them down his thighs to his feet, flicking them up into the air. He caught them with a quick swoop and used them to wipe his body clean of his own fluids.

Steve lied there naked, gripping his cum-soaked undies on his chest. He couldn’t recall the last time he had cum without thinking about Peggy. Was he finally over her? And what did it mean that Bucky had replaced her? First the dreams, and now this? Steve worried about his best friend, back on ice in Wakanda for God knows how long. He worried about what the dreams meant. Were they a warning that something bad was going to happen to Bucky? It was inevitable that Bucky would occupy his thoughts more frequently... but during his most intimate moments? It was unexpected, to say the least. Steve didn’t know how to feel about it.

He couldn't think about it anymore. Bucky was his best friend and nothing more, right? And he was safe in Wakanda, under the watchful eye of the most technologically advanced society on the planet. He needed to be concentrating on other problems, like finding Natasha and Vision and deciding what their next move was going to be. Were they still superheroes? Could they help people without the backing of the world government? Could they show their faces in public ever again? Was Flushing, Queens the right place for them right now, still in the heart of New York City?

Steve hopped into the shower before Wanda and Sam woke up. His broad shoulders barely fit in the tiny cell, the space more suitable for a coffin rather than a kinetic shower experience. He crouched his body down, trying to get under the shower head. He tried to avoid the shower walls, the cracked pink tiles protruding out in some spots, begging for a good piece of flesh to poke.

Steve exited the shower fresh and unscathed, water dripping down his body. He wiped the condensation off the bathroom mirror and looked at himself. Who was the person staring back at him? He had thought of himself as Captain America for so long, it was difficult to think of himself as anything else. Now he was a fugitive, a man without a country, a nomad. Could he survive in this new world he had made for himself? He got lost in his own blue eyes, his chiseled jaw line, his flowing dirty blonde hair, his muscular neck and chest- all the result of the super soldier serum he had taken a lifetime ago. Even the color of his eyes had subtlety changed after taking the serum. Once sky blue, now a deep ocean navy blue. Perhaps a cruel joke from the universe, foreshadowing the seventy years he’d spend on the ocean floor. It seemed silly to think it, but it was a simpler time back then, before the ice. Back then he knew who the bad guys were. He knew his place in the war, what his mission was, who and what he was fighting for. Now, things were... complicated.

He ran into Sam on his way back to his room. A bath towel draped across Sam’s shoulder, his toothbrush in one hand, a razor in the other.

“Your turn to make breakfast,” Sam exclaimed, raising his toothbrush into the air as he passed him and entered the bathroom.

“Good morning to you too, buddy,” Steve laughed as he entered his bedroom and closed the door behind him.

Steve got dressed, throwing on a navy-blue shirt that hugged his biceps and a pair of light jeans that bulged in all the right places, front and back.

Steve whipped up a few omelets, placing them on the kitchen table, along with three settings of napkins and utensils. Steve announced that breakfast was ready and Sam and Wanda trickled into the small kitchen, Wanda emerging from the room across from Steve’s and Sam from the adjacent living room, his belongings in a pile next to the couch that had served as his bed. They sat at the kitchen table in silence, staring at the walls and occasionally at each other as they ate.

Sam finally spoke. “So, those uh... ‘neighbors’ are at it again,” he said. “It’s funny, though, that Wanda and I are the only ones who seem to hear them, right Wanda?” Sam searched for agreement from Wanda, but she averted his gaze, twirling her fork in her omelet.

“Yeah,” Steve sighed, “Guess I’m just a heavy sleeper. War does that to you.” Steve looked at Sam straight in the eyes, unflinching.

Sam rolled his eyes, unconvinced.

“Come on, Cap--” Sam started.

Steve interrupted. “Don’t call me that anymore,” he barked at Sam.

Sam raised his hands up in the air, surrendering. “No more Cap. I get it. We’re outlaws now, can’t be too careful,” Sam said lightly.

Steve pounded his fist on the table, the silverware clanking, the sound of the cheap plywood cracking under his fist. Wanda flinched, dropping her fork. He immediately regretted it. He couldn’t let his frustration come out like this. This wasn’t him. No matter how bad things got or how lost he felt, he had to hold it together, if not for himself, then for his friends, his teammates, Bucky.

Steve gave them both an apologetic look and then diverted his attention to Sam, explaining.

“It’s not just that,” Steve clarified, calmly. “I don’t know if that’s who I am anymore.”

Sam nodded in understanding. “Steve, I get it. We’re all going through something right now, and I know you’ve had it the worst. But you’ve got to know that we’re here for you. You saved us from the Raft, we owe you our lives. Now don’t shut us out. Let us help you. We know something’s been going on, ever since you got back from Wakanda. We know there are no ‘neighbors.’ So, what is it, nightmares?”

Steve bent his neck down and closed his eyes, exhaling. Steve knew he couldn’t lie forever. The nightmares had only gotten worse over the past couple days. Who knew how much worse they were going to get? He couldn’t keep his teammates in the dark any longer. What if the nightmares continued to evolve in a way he didn’t expect, in a way that could hurt them? He had to come clean, no matter how vulnerable it made him look.

“Yes,” Steve admitted, his eyes still closed.

Sam leaned back in his chair, victorious, relieved.

“Ok then,” Sam smiled, “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Sam waited for a reply, as if he were a schoolteacher asking his student a question.

Steve smirked at Sam—jerk. It was only one simple word—’Yes’—but already Steve had felt better. Maybe sharing wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe he didn’t have to walk through life holding in all of his pain. Maybe there was hope for tomorrow.

Steve told them all about the nightmares, conveniently leaving out the part about his romantic relationship with Bucky. Instead, Steve was standing next to Bucky by the lake, not holding him in his arms, not kissing his forehead, not grazing against Bucky’s stubble. It was still complicated dealing with those images and feelings (whatever they were) on his own, let alone sharing them with anyone else. But he explained the rest of the dreams in detail—the lake, the duck family, the lone duckling, Bucky wanting to stay in the dream forever, his insistence on killing everyone involved in Bucky’s Winter Soldier transformation, the resulting carnage that always played out in the end, and the latest development—his own terminator-esque transformation.

Sam and Wanda listened intently, nodding and wincing in all the right places. Neither of them thought the dreams meant anything more than what they were- just bad dreams. Sam and Wanda both agreed that Bucky was safe in Wakanda. They offered solutions of their own. Sam told Steve about how yoga and meditation had helped him clear his mind and sleep better, while Wanda offered to fix the problem using her mind control powers.

“I’ve been inside your mind before, Steve. I know where to look, how you think. I could help you. You don’t have to keep suffering through this,” Wanda said.

Steve considered it, then thought better of it. There was no telling what could happen if things went wrong, and she would definitely find out about his and Bucky’s dream romance.

“No. It’s too dangerous. But thank you for the offer. I'll find another way,” Steve said.

Wanda nodded, reaching her arm across the table and taking Steve’s hands in hers. “ _We’ll_ find another way.”

Steve smiled at her, bittersweet.

Sam extended his arm across the table, squeezing Steve’s shoulder and patting him on the back. They stayed like that for what seemed like minutes, realizing that all they had was each other, until the world eventually found a way to draw them back out, to fight, to avenge. And it would, eventually, just like it always had.


	4. The Pickle

After breakfast, they agreed that someone needed to go to the store. Steve had stocked up on food when he and Bucky had returned from Siberia, knowing they needed to shelter in place for as long as they could, but their supply had quickly dwindled after taking in their teammates from the Raft. It was a full house at first, with Sam, Wanda, Clint, Ant-Man, Bucky, and himself squeezed into the tiny 2-bedroom apartment. After two days of laying low, Clint and Ant-Man had returned home, Clint back to his farm house in Missouri and Ant-Man back to his family in San Francisco. Soon after, Bucky had started to lose chunks of time again, forgetting who he was, where he was. He hadn’t become violent, but Steve thought that it was only a matter of time. Steve took up T'Challa on his offer to help Bucky, knowing that Wakandan technology was their only hope at finding a cure for Bucky's Winter Soldier programming. Steve hated to see his best friend go, taken from the world again, but it was a sacrifice he had to make. What if the Winter Soldier was activated again? They couldn’t take that chance. T’Challa and Shuri had assured him that Bucky would be safe in Wakanda and that they'd update him on the status of the cure. It was all Steve had thought about since returning from Wakanda one week ago. Had he made the right decision to come back? Should he have stayed in Wakanda with Bucky? Were they ever going to find a cure, and how long would it take? All this swirling through his head, no wonder he was having such vivid nightmares.

Steve sat on the living room couch, contemplating their next move, observing the tiny dirty apartment around him: dark maroon stains littered the tan carpet, the furniture appeared to have thrown up on itself, and the bare windows had left them vulnerable to the outside world, not to mention drenching the apartment with the hot summer sunlight. Was this the best Fury could do? Steve knew that S.H.I.E.L.D. had been operating underground with limited funds, but until now he hadn’t realized just how limited.

Steve watched from the living room as Sam and Wanda cleaned the kitchen. There were no walls that divorced one room from the next. Instead, one room dissolved into the other, separated by a junction where the kitchen linoleum floor gave way to the carpeted living room. Sam washed the dishes while Wanda dried, arguing over who should be the one to go to the store. They were desperate to get out of the house, neither of them having stepped outside in over a week. Steve hadn’t let them; they had to avoid all contact with the public for as long as they could.

“I think we can all agree that I’d be the best in a pickle,” Sam argued, hovered over the sink, scrubbing the last of the egg residue off his plate.

Wanda stood next to him, towel in hand, waiting for the wet dish. She stared at him, smirking.

“A pickle,” Wanda repeated.

Sam handed her the last dish and twisted the faucet off. He stared back at her, struggling to explain. “Yeah, you know... a bind.”

“I know what a pickle is. I’m just amused by your usage of the phrase in this context, to suggest that the harm that could come to us by showing ourselves in public and potentially being recognized could be described as anything other than a complete catastrophe, and certainly the notion of it being downplayed as ‘a pickle,’ is laughable.”

“So, you _do_ think I’m funny, then?” Sam said, smiling smugly.

Wanda sighed, slightly amused, slightly annoyed. “And just a suggestion, generally one shouldn’t use an idiom to explain the meaning of another idiom.”

“What’s an idiom?”

Wanda laughed.

Sam dried his hands and headed toward the living room. He stood at the linoleum-carpet junction, presenting his case to Steve, who stared up at him from the couch.

“Look, if anything goes wrong, anything at all, I got my Falcon gear that can fly me out of there with one swoop. Simple,” Sam said.

Wanda returned her dish towel and walked past Sam, joining Steve on the couch. She looked up at Sam. “And then what? You fly back here and we flee? To where, Fury’s back-up safe house?” Wanda looked around the dingy apartment, implying they were already in the back-up, or quite possibly the back-up of the back-up.

“Ok Red, what’s your brilliant plan, then?” Sam asked.

Wanda cleared her throat, starting. “We can’t just _hope_ that no one recognizes us. It’s too risky. We have to be _sure_. I can use my mind control powers to make people see me as someone else. That way we are protected, one hundred percent.”

Sam shook his head, unconvinced. “You want to talk about risky?! Since when is using magic not risky? Spells go wrong all the time, I’ve seen _Charmed_. How do you know your spell will work? That’s a lot of minds to manipulate. We’re in downtown Flushing, the Times Square of Queens.”

Steve turned his head to look at Wanda, his brows furled. “Sam has a point, Wanda. How do you know you’re powerful enough to do something like this? The last time you used your mind control powers was with Ultron.”

Wanda exhaled and leaned back into the couch, folding her arms together slowly.

“No... it’s not,” she confessed.

Both Steve and Sam’s face tensed with surprise.

“What?” Steve replied. “When?”

“After Nigeria, before the Accords, after the Accords. I had a lot of time on my hands, stuck in the Avengers compound against my will. I couldn’t live with myself after what happened in Nigeria. I had to do something, to understand my power, to learn how to control it. So...… I did. And in doing so, my power is now stronger and more focused than it's ever been.”

Steve rose from the couch and paced the living room, digesting this new information. He felt conflicted. He trusted Wanda with his life, but he couldn’t deny the fact that this revelation had made him feel uneasy. Associating with powerful beings was nothing new to him, with the God of Thunder and the Hulk on his team, but mind control was something else entirely. Bucky’s situation had proven that. Powerful men had figured out a way to control his best friend and make him do terrible things. How did he know this wouldn’t happen to Wanda? That someone wouldn’t force her to use her powers against the team someday, like Ultron had? How could he ever know for sure that he wasn’t being manipulated? Steve didn’t want to have these thoughts; the old him wouldn’t have. The old him would’ve accepted this new information without a second thought, trusting his teammate completely. And he did trust Wanda; it was the rest of the world he didn’t.

“Who else knows about this?” Steve asked, his pacing slowed.

“Just Vision. He helped me, his stone...I looked inside of it. It told me everything, showed me things I can do... things I _will_ do.”

“But, how do you know you can use your power on other people, on a bigger scale like this, if it was just you and Vision?” Steve asked, curious.

“I just do. Why do you think I suggested to help you with your dreams, Steve? I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t sure it would be safe. This is just like that. I know I can do it.”

Steve sighed. “You’re sure?”

Wanda looked at him, confident. “Yes.”

“Ok, then. What’s your plan?”


	5. The Spell

After a lengthy discussion, they decided to go together. This way, they could pick up more supplies and Wanda would have back up in the event that something went wrong. Wanda had insisted that she could make the residents of Flushing see them disguised as someone else and it would be no more complicated than just disguising herself. Steve wasn’t thrilled with the plan, but he didn’t see what other choice they had. They had rationed enough food to get them by on one meal a day for the last week, but now their stock wouldn’t even allow that, and asking Fury for help wasn’t an option. He contacted you, not the other way around.

Wanda tossed on a red tank and cut off shorts, looking the part of an ordinary summer girl trying to beat the New York City heat. Sam had wanted to suit up in full Falcon gear, but Wanda insisted that it would be easier for her to disguise their faces if she didn’t have to worry about disguising their wardrobe as well, so he changed into a grey athletic tank and a pair of jeans. Steve remained in his navy-blue shirt and tight light jeans.

They left the apartment, Steve trailing down the apartment steps behind Sam and Wanda. The apartment was on the top floor of a six-story walk-up. It had reminded him of the small apartment in Brooklyn he had lived in as a child, the son of poor Irish immigrants. Thinking of his past immediately brought with it memories of Bucky. Back when they had spent every second together as kids, bonding over the things that most kids did at the time: their love of radio serials, ice cream, baseball. He couldn’t believe how long ago that was, and yet to him it had felt just like yesterday, lying next to Bucky on the couch cushions they had pushed together on the floor, listening to the Lone Ranger and Tonto as they bagged another outlaw.

They huddled in the main lobby, itself no larger than a small bedroom. A beat-up red love seat sat in one corner, while mailboxes occupied the other. Outside, through the glass front door, Steve could see the sun blazing down on the empty street and sidewalk.

Wanda nodded at the men, indicating that she was ready to begin the spell. She bent her elbows and shaped each of her palms into a crescent shape, together forming the outline of a circle. A red fluorescent ball of light formed in the middle. Her arms extended out to contain the ball as it grew bigger. Steve and Sam stood back, watching in awe as Wanda demonstrated her power. The ball grew to the size of a large beach ball, red lights swirling in it like a hurricane, sparks of lightning forming on the surface. Wanda looked up and smiled at the men.

“Ok boys, let's do this,” she said, and leaned her neck back, her head facing the ceiling like she was admiring a glorious night sky.

She straightened her elbows and extended her arms up into the air like a praising churchgoer. The ball of light exploded upward and all around, sending red pulse waves out in all directions, passing through all four walls and the ceiling, presumably on their way to manipulate the minds of Flushing residents into seeing them as someone else, allowing them to venture out into the city unrecognized.

Just as the red waves dissipated, Wanda’s knees buckled and her body dipped to the floor, limp. The alertness in her face drained and the white of her eyes rolled into the back of her head, closing. Steve and Sam reached her just in time, holding her body up with theirs.

“Wanda!” Steve shouted, begging her to wake up. No response. It looked as if her life force had been taken from her. Her face was white, her lips blue. Steve placed his fingers under her neck, feeling for her carotid—still a pulse, thank God. They moved her to the couch and lied her down on the frayed red upholstery.

Sam removed his arms from her body and approached the glass front door, craning his neck to see as much of the outside street and sidewalk as he could, ensuring no one was on their way to the apartment.

“All clear. Now what? Look, we’re still us,” Sam said, gesturing to a long rectangular mirror on the wall above the couch.

Steve followed Sam’s gaze as he hovered over Wanda, seeing their normal reflections staring back at them in the mirror. “I think other people see our disguise, but we still see ourselves,” Steve reasoned, but quickly realized that he had no idea how Wanda’s spell was supposed to work.

Steve propped Wanda’s head up on the couch. Her face was still, stuck in a deep sleep of her own making. She had been so sure about her enhanced mind control abilities, certain that her spell would work. Had it? Steve looked outside the glass front door and wondered, unable to see anyone pass by. Should he go outside and approach someone to find out? What if Wanda’s spell hadn’t worked and they recognized him? Could they take a hostage? No, of course not. So, what now? Would Wanda wake up soon? What if the spell had broken her somehow? Should they try to contact Vision? Wanda’s power had come from Vision’s mind stone; if anyone could help her, it would be him. But where would they even begin to look for Vision? After all, the reason why they were in this position in the first place was because their contacts had dried up. They couldn’t even recruit someone to help them grocery shop, let alone track down the smartest, most advanced AI in the world who had disappeared for a reason, likely on some sort of self-reflective pilgrimage after nearly killing Rhodes.

“What’s the plan now, Ca—,” Sam caught himself, “—Steve?”

Steve exhaled. Again, it came down to this: his decision, his responsibility. What else could he do but continue to play that role? Maybe being “Cap” was his destiny, too engrained in himself and others for it to be any other way. He felt dizzy, unsure.

Suddenly, a dense fog came over him as the world around him paused and went silent and gray, the stress and uncertainty of his present situation disappearing…

Through the fog, an image crept upon him like a vision: Bucky lying in the open cryo-chamber in Wakanda in the center of a large empty white room, bright fluorescent lights shining down on him from above, his eyes closed, in a deep sleep as if waiting for a magic kiss to awaken him. Steve got lost in the vision, as if this was his new reality, as if Sam and Wanda and the apartment had just been an illusion. Steve approached Bucky and reached his hand out to caress the side of his face. It was cold to the touch, just like the ice he had come out of so long ago. He flinched his hand back and prayed that it wasn’t true, that Bucky wasn’t dead. He leaned his ear down to Bucky’s nose and listened for his breath. It was slow and steady, but present nonetheless. _Not dead, not my Bucky._ He raised his head and exhaled in relief. His relief was cut short, however, when he looked up and saw his reflection in the large mirror that covered the wall straight ahead. His eyes glowed red just like they had in his dream last night when he had hurt Bucky. He had to do something, had to run away to protect Bucky from himself before the feeling of rage and hunger came over him like it had last night. He searched the room for a way out. No doors, no vents, nothing. Just him and Bucky and his impending hunger. Steve knew what he must do. He charged forward, shattering the mirror into a million tiny pieces, hoping for an escape behind the mirror. Instead, like a cruel joke, all that lied behind it was another mirror. Steve pounded at the second mirror in frustration. He ran to the chamber and grabbed Bucky’s shoulders, shaking him back and forth, pleading with him to wake up before the rage took over. “Bucky!” Steve shouted, Bucky’s face drenched in the red stare of his eyes. It was no use. Bucky lied there asleep, far away from him. Steve ran his hands through Bucky’s hair, touched his lips. He closed his eyes and leaned down to do what he had longed to do since the moment he saw Bucky lying in the chamber—he kissed him. Bucky’s lips felt cold at first, but soon warmed with life and opened to receive Steve’s tongue. Steve lost himself in the kiss and ran his hands through Bucky’s hair as if feeling him for the first time, as if discovering him anew, taking comfort in the way he tasted. Steve knew that everything would be ok in that moment, that no matter what happened they would get through it, together. Steve suppressed the rage and hunger deep down, knowing that this time their moment would not end in death and destruction. Steve leaned his head out of the kiss and opened his eyes to see Bucky slowly awakening. Suddenly Bucky’s eyes shot open and his eyebrows furled, a look of terror on his face. Bucky grabbed Steve by the arms and spoke, hurried. “Steve,” he pleaded. “You have to help me. I’m in Wakanda. I’ve been trying to reach you. I’m in trouble. You have to—”

Bucky’s words were cut short as the fog lifted and the vision quickly dissipated. Steve was back in the apartment lobby, looking down at Wanda, still asleep on the couch. Sam’s voice spoke mid-sentence from across the room: “—have to do something,” he said, standing watch by the front door, inspecting the outside for people. Sam twisted his head around to look at Steve, concerned by his silence.

Steve stared up at Sam with a blank expression on his face, unsure of what had just happened to him. Another dream? No, it was far too real. He could still taste Bucky in his mouth, could feel the texture of his hair in his hands, could hear the shattering of the mirror. Sam looked back at him in confusion.

“Steve? You ok?” Sam questioned, concerned. “Where’d you go?”

Steve stumbled a reply. “I, uh—Sorry, I...” Steve thought of what to say, of what lie to tell. Could he tell Sam the truth? Would he think he was crazy?

“...I’m just thinking of what to do,” Steve said, deciding to keep the vision to himself for now. He needed to get through this moment first, to solve this, to continue with their plan so he could tackle what to do about Bucky with a clear mind. Yes, he needed to keep going, if not for himself or Sam or Wanda, then for Bucky.

Steve rose from the couch and looked outside into the street.

“I’ll go. You stay here with Wanda,” Steve said, sure of himself now.

“You really think her spell worked?” Sam asked.

Steve shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, unsure. “If all else fails, though, at least I have plan B.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “We discussed a plan B?”

Steve took out a blue baseball cap and sunglasses from his back pocket and put them on, modeling for Sam.

“Right,” Sam said. “The thing that probably should’ve been plan A.”

Steve took a final glance at Wanda before heading outside, searching her face for some sign of what to do. She lied there motionless, eyes closed. Steve gave Sam one last nod before walking outside and into the bright sunlight.


	6. Hiro and the City

The grueling summer heat and humidity hit Steve with a shock. Perspiration immediately began to form in every pore of his face. Suddenly he was transported back to summer in his childhood playing with Bucky and the neighborhood kids. They’d play war together, pretending to lead units of men to the front lines, recruiting the neighborhood kids to be in their battalion.

Steve thought about the dreams again, about the vision he had not five minutes ago. It had seemed so real. Bucky was in trouble, he knew that for sure now. What other explanation could there be? He had to finish the mission as quickly as he could, stock up on supplies, and get to the quinjet to head back to Wakanda and save Bucky. But save him from what? What was it Bucky had said in the vision? _You have to help me. I’m in Wakanda. I’ve been trying to reach you. I’m in trouble. You have to—._ Have to what? Help him? Go to Wakanda? Was there something else Bucky had wanted him to do? Why had the vision ended so abruptly? And how had Bucky done it in the first place, infiltrated his dreams, his mind?

Steve thought about the elephant in the room of his thoughts. That kiss. The feelings it had evoked within him in the dream, the comfort and safety he had felt being intimate with Bucky, like everything in the world was right. Were those feelings real, or simply confined to the dream? Was it nothing more than Bucky’s way of getting his attention, of ensuring he’d remember the dreams so he could come and save him? But Steve had been lucid in this last dream, or vision, or whatever it was, hadn’t he? It was him that had made the conscious decision to kiss his best friend, him that had felt all those feelings... or was it? Steve didn’t know. All he knew was that he needed to concentrate on his current mission and get as much food and supplies as he could without being recognized so he could get back to Bucky as soon as possible.

Steve ventured forward, tipping his hat down and his shades up as he turned onto Main Street, the bustling center of Flushing, Queens, where cars and pedestrians and street vendors and restaurants and any shop you could think of had resided, along with the overhead tracks of the Long Island Railroad, subway entrances on every corner, and an uncountable number of bus lines. Steve couldn’t understand how Fury had thought this was the right place for a safe house. It was quite possibly the busiest place in New York City besides Times Square... only it wasn’t bustling right now. In fact, there wasn’t another person in sight for as far as Steve could see. Another thing— the cars and buses on the roads were all stopped, without any drivers or passengers. Steve looked closer and saw that some had crashed into one other, while others had crashed into building entrances or stalled up and down the sidewalks.

“Shit,” Steve said aloud as he surveyed the destruction.

He ran into the street to check for survivors, peeking into wrecked and overturned vehicles, hoping to find someone, anyone. He turned cars upright and ripped off doors and extinguished fires, but alas, not a soul in sight to be saved. Steve jogged along Main Street, deeper into the city center, passing outdoor markets with abandoned carts full of fruits and vegetables, plastic bags overflowing with goods left by the crosswalk pushbuttons, pink and yellow and orange umbrellas that had once protected their owners from the sun, now sweeping down the sidewalk in the gentle summer breeze. The longer Steve jogged, the more he prayed for hope, but all he came across was more emptiness, more abandoned cars, more isolation.

Steve knew what must have happened, but he didn’t want to believe it. Wanda’s spell. How could it have gone so wrong when she was so sure of her power? And what exactly had gone wrong? Where had everyone disappeared to? Were they dead, disintegrated, invisible? Was it everyone in Flushing, or all of Queens, or all of New York City?

Exhausted, Steve stopped in the middle of an intersection, crouching, his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath from the shock, from the heat, from his predicament. In front of him was a black Suburban, abandoned like all the others cars, void of life... except for the movement of a small head just poking up from behind the passenger seat, barely noticeable through the dark tinted windows. Steve rose from his crouching position and walked toward the car, curious, hopeful. He opened the back-passenger door and sitting there was a light brown Lab, its tongue hanging out of its mouth as it struggled to breathe through the stale sauna air that had accumulated in the car. The dog pouted with excitement and let out a loud bark as it hopped onto Steve, easily knocking him onto the ground, planting wet licks all over his face and neck.

“There, boy,” Steve said, patting the dog’s back and picking himself up off the ground. Steve knelt down to examine the circular piece of metal dangling from the dog’s green collar. On one side: HI, MY NAME IS HIRO, on the other: a nearby Flushing address. The dog offered Steve a glimmer of hope.

“Hi Hiro,” Steve said, smiling, rubbing the dog's ears. The dog lifted his head up in relief and ecstasy. “Guess you’re coming with me now. Come on, let's get some water.”

Steve walked to the nearest convenience store, Hiro following closely behind him. He found a cheap bowl and placed it on the store floor, squirting some cold water in it from a bottle he obtained from the cooler. Hiro wagged his tail excitedly as he slurped from the bowl. Steve grabbed a bottle for himself and finished it in one breath, wiping the stream of water that rolled down his mouth.

“Cooler in here, right?” Steve said to the dog as he removed his cap and sunglasses and arched his neck up to feel the cold air from the vent overhead. Steve grabbed an extra water bottle from the cooler, placing it in his back pocket, his round glutes resisting the object at first, then submitting to it as it offered cold relief. Hiro finished slurping and rose his head to look at Steve as if asking “What now?”

“Now we go back to Sam and Wanda,” Steve said to Hiro, returning his cap and sunglasses, “and hope that Wanda is awake so she can bring back your owner and everyone else. And then we go check on Bucky in Wakanda.”

Steve and Hiro exited the store and walked down Main Street on their way back to the apartment, Steve pushing an abandoned cart of food and supplies he snatched from one of the open markets. Suddenly, a familiar voice from behind him spoke:

“Do you think Bucky would be jealous, knowing he’s been replaced by a canine?” it said.

Steve turned around to see Natasha standing in front of him.


	7. Natasha

Her hair was different— short and blonde now instead of long and red, and she wore a black jumpsuit full of so many straps and Velcro and pockets that it put her old Black Widow suit to shame. Two Glock’s poked out from her thigh holsters, one on either side, battle ready. A rush of emotion overcame Steve at the mere sight of her—surprise, joy, sorrow, relief and comfort were just a few of them. Steve lunged forward, falling into her arms, wrapping his own around her, squeezing. She smelled just like the jasmine lotion she had loved so much. She swore that the smell had helped her focus in battle. Steve took in a large whiff. They pulled out of the hug, smiling at each other in a way that said “Can you believe the shit we get ourselves into?”

Steve started, gesturing to her hair. “Love the new ‘do,” he said. 

“Oh, you know what they say. Blondes have more fun and all. I figured—hey, what’s more fun than being on the run from the US government?” Natasha said, cupping her hair with her hand. “So, does he have a name?” she asked, flicking her head at the dog. 

“Hiro,” Steve said, patting his forehead. 

Natasha smiled. “A bit on the nose, don’t you think?”

“Natasha, what are you doing here, how are you here?” Steve asked, still shocked that she was standing in front of him.

"Fury sent me. We got word that something big was about to happen close to the safe house. From the looks of it, our source was right. What happened here, Steve? What’s with the _I am Legend_ set-up?”

Steve stared at Natasha, confused by her last remark.

“Sorry, pop culture reference—Will Smith movie about a guy and his dog roaming around a post-apocalyptic wasteland. Not worth putting on your list,” Natasha said, shaking her head.

Steve explained how their plan had gone horribly wrong, how Wanda’s spell must have backfired, how her and Sam were still back at the apartment.

Natasha furled her brow as he finished, baffled. “So, let me get this straight...,” she trailed off. “...you let one of the most powerful beings in the world, who’s very powers, when stressed to the breaking point, have caused unintended death and destruction (of which we witnessed first-hand, might I add)— not to mention sparking an international debate and a civil war amongst our colleagues— proceed with a spell that could risk thousands of lives, all because… you were hungry?”

Steve cringed. “Well, when you put it like that. Yeah... I guess we were pretty careless.”

“Steve, what’s going on here? Did Captain America do some drugs or something? I’m being punk’d, right?” She whirled her head back and forth, hunting for a camera that wasn’t there.

Steve shook his head. He knew that reference, surprisingly. “No, afraid not.”

Natasha was right. He knew what had happened the last time Wanda lost control— Wakandan lives were lost and the world government had taken notice, so much so that the Sokovia Accords were created. And that was with powers she had used regularly. How could he think that she had mastered her mind control powers so quickly?

The whole plan had been idiotic. It had seemed so silly now, risking everything. Why hadn’t he done everything he could to contact Fury? He’d been so distracted ever since returning from Wakanda that he hadn’t given anyone or anything else much thought. He’d been obsessed with his dreams, with Bucky, with whatever his feelings were. All that, combined with the stress from the fallout with Tony, being on the run from U.S. government (not to mention the world government), and stuck in a tiny dirty apartment. All of it had taken its toll on Steve, leaving him tired and vulnerable. But hadn’t he dealt with much worse? He’d fought the Red Skull in the war, saved New York City from an alien invasion, and almost died at the hands of his best friend. Comparatively, weren’t his current circumstances a bit tame?

Steve didn’t know what to say. How could he explain any of this?

“It’s been... difficult lately.” Steve tried to go on, but was stopped by a wave of emotion. It traveled through his body like the recoil of a shotgun, uncontrollable, his mouth twisting with emotion, tears welling in his eyes.

Steve could see the look on Natasha’s face, now more concerned than ever, as she took him into her arms again.

“Steve...” Her voice trailed off, not knowing what to say.

He leaned his head into her bosom as she stroked his hair and patted his back. He let the waterworks flow, surprising even himself. Steve remembered how good it had felt, just hours ago, coming out to Sam and Wanda about the dreams. Now, his head buried deep in Natasha’s chest, drenching her with his tears, he felt a sense of release like he’d never felt before.


	8. The Gunman

Steve pried his head from Natasha’s chest, wiping the tears and snot from his face, Natasha doing the same from the crack of her bosom. 

“Sorry,” Steve managed. 

Natasha swished a hand through the air, unfazed. “Oh please, like I’ve never had a man’s fluids in my bosom.” 

Steve chuckled through his tears. 

Natasha raised her eyebrows, wiping away the remaining snot. “Laughing at dirty jokes now, are we? Seriously, what have you done with my fossil?” 

Steve breathed in, his tears retreating, relief starting to come over him. It felt good to be with Natasha. Besides Bucky, he had arguably been through the most with her. Her presence had always comforted him. 

“We should get back to the house,” Steve said, ready to move on. 

“Yes, we should...” Natasha agreed, pausing, “…But I think that little scene deserves some kind of explanation, don’t you? Spill it, Steve. What’s going on? What’s with the waterworks?” 

Steve hesitated, then decided that she deserved at least the beginning of an explanation. Just as Steve was about to speak, Hiro let out a loud growl. Steve and Natasha switched their focus to the dog. Saliva began to foam at the corners of his mouth, his growls becoming louder and louder, more savage. Steve noticed Hiro looking far off into the distance, seemingly growling at the sky. Steve followed his gaze, ending at the top of a building across the street and diagonal from him, about 200 feet away, far enough that Steve couldn’t tell who the man was on top of the building, but close enough to see that he had a rifle and was pointing it directly at them. 

Steve lunged in front of Natasha, shielding her just as a bullet flew by and shattered a nearby car window. He grabbed her hand, leading her down the adjacent residential street and off of Main Street, bullets whizzing by as they ran. Even on the residential street, they were vulnerable, still in the line of fire. They needed shelter, and fast. Without thinking, Steve rushed to the nearest apartment complex, praying that the front door was unlocked. He jiggled the handle—it wasn’t. There was no time to try the next building. Steve knew what he had to do. He raised his right elbow up into the air, bringing it down with such force that it successfully broke through the canvas-sized door window, leaving sharp remnants all around its edges. He carefully stretched his arm into the jagged gap and felt for the lock on the inside of the door, finding it and quickly twisting it unlocked. He slid his arm back out of the gap, slashing his bicep on a large chunk of the remaining glass. Steve let out a yelp, watching as the blood gushed out of his arm. Steve could see that the cut was deep, penetrating his dermal layers and reaching all the way down to his muscle. 

Steve grabbed his arm, putting pressure on the wound as he lost his balance and stumbled back. Natasha held him up from behind, preventing him from falling. She swerved in front of him and pulled the apartment door open, guiding Steve into the lobby just as a stray bullet pierced through his left bicep. Steve let out a loud yell as he fell forward onto the lobby floor, the intense pain surprising him. The door shut as Natasha and Hiro came in behind him, Hiro bending down to lick Steve’s face as he tried to get up. 

Natasha hovered over Steve and planted her hands underneath his chest, pulling him up. Steve groaned, the pain from his wounds affecting him in a way he had never experienced before. He stumbled up, wrapping his arms around Natasha for support. He saw a door at the end of the lobby with a BASEMENT placard on it and motioned Natasha towards it. They staggered to the door and opened it, the ground giving way inside to a long flight of stairs that descended down into darkness. 

Natasha wiped the sweat from her brow, looking hesitantly down into the shadows. “Ok, but if Freddy Kreuger gets us, I’m blaming you,” she said. 

Steve grabbed onto the hand-rail that lead downward, inching himself along. “You really love your pop culture references, don’t you?” he panted. 

Natasha smiled. “All part of my charm.” 

They reached the landing below and entered a dark dank room. Straight ahead was a large tool bench littered with tools of various sizes, a chainsaw the size of a small person lying on top, and to the right a giant industrial steel door. 

“Boiler room,” Steve motioned to the steel door. “We’ll be safe in here. It locks from the outside, but we need to find the key to get in.” 

Natasha searched the tool bench, finding a small key clip with half a dozen keys attached to it. 

“Got it,” she said, throwing it Steve. 

Steve watched as the keys fell to his feet. The pain in his arms travelled throughout his whole body like a million bee stings, preventing him from raising his arms to catch it. 

“Sorry,” Steve panted, embarrassed. 

“It’s fine,” Natasha said, “You just lost your spot on my baseball team, but no biggie.” She tried to hide her concern with a joke, but Steve could see that she was worried about him, and confused—as was he. Both of them knew that he had endured far worse in the past and had pushed through the pain easily. What was happening to him? 

Natasha picked the keys off the ground and cycled through them, finally unlocking the boiler room door on the fourth try. She pulled the door open, focusing all of her strength into it. Steve could see that the door was just as heavy as it appeared, ensuring they’d be safe behind it. Steve and Hiro slid past Natasha into the room. Natasha let go of the door and watched as it slowly began to inch its way closed, giving her just enough time to grab the giant chainsaw off the tool bench and slide into the boiler room as the door grazed past her and shut with a loud bang. 

Steve raised his eyebrows at her, eyeing the chainsaw in her hands. 

Natasha shrugged. “Just in case,” she said, smiling down at the large tool like a kid with a new Christmas toy.


	9. The Boiler Room

Steve leaned against the boiler, shirtless, beads of sweat shimmering all over his face and upper body. His arm wounds were wrapped in makeshift blue bandages that Natasha had fashioned from his shirt. Blood had already soaked through the bandages and began to drip down the length of his arms. Natasha stood across from him holding a small amplifier up against the metal door, an earbud in one ear, her finger in the other, listening through the door. 

“Anything?” Steve wheezed. 

Natasha shook her head, defeated, her damp hair caked against her face. She dropped the amplifier and plopped down across from Steve, petting the chainsaw beside her to make herself feel better. Hiro emerged from the corner and nudged up against Steve, resting his head on his lap, jealous that he wasn’t receiving as much attention. 

“How much longer do we give it?” Steve asked, petting Hiro. 

Natasha looked at him with surprise. “You’re asking me? Aren’t you usually the boss?”

Steve sighed. “I’m not that guy anymore... or at least, I don’t think I am... I don’t know,” Steve looked down, confused. 

“Steve...” Natasha started. “You made one bad call. A big one— don't get me wrong, but not irreversible. We just have to get Wanda to reverse the spell. It doesn’t mean you have to quit.” 

“It’s not just that...It’s... I don’t know, maybe I’m not the best guy for the job anymore, you know? I mean, even before today. Half of our friends are our enemies now because of a call I made, and for what? Did it make the world a better place? I’m not so sure. I’m sick of making sacrifices, losing friends. The woman I loved more than anything is dead. My best friend is halfway across the planet struggling with something we may never fix. I’m an outlaw on the run from the US government, not to mention the world government. There’s a gunman after us in a... what did you called it?... post-apocalyptic wasteland. Is it too much to ask for a moment of peace and happiness? Just one?” The image of him and Bucky by the lake flashed in his mind at that last thought, followed by him kissing Bucky in the cryo-chamber. 

“So... now I understand the waterworks from earlier,” Natasha started. “Steve... you’re the strongest person I know, but we all have breaking points, even you. Don’t beat yourself up over this. As a leader, all you can do is make the best decision given the information you have. It was the right call not signing the Accords, even Tony knows that now. And making sacrifices is all part of the gig. But, given everything, you always make the sacrifice for the greater good because that’s who you are. They knew that eighty years ago when they pumped you full of that serum. And it’s still true today. I’m sorry that Peggy’s gone and that Bucky’s in stasis in Wakanda, but you know what... I think the people in your current life aren’t so bad.” Natasha winked, forcing a slight smile out of Steve. 

“No pop culture references in that speech. I’m proud of you.” Steve said. 

“Believe me, it wasn’t easy,” Natasha exhaled. She scooted forward and hugged him for the third time today. Steve took comfort in her embrace, wincing at the throbbing pain in his arms as she squeezed. She let go and sat beside him, petting Hiro, still on his lap. 

Steve studied the dog, noticing for the first time the darker coloration of the fur surrounding his left eye, almost forming the shape of a star. The image of him holding Bucky by the lake flashed in his mind again, this time zooming in on his bionic arm, the sun glaring off the shiny red star. Then it switched to him tearing Bucky apart, feeding on his flesh. Then the vision of Bucky in the cryo-chamber, pleading for help.

Steve caught Natasha’s eyes as she looked up from the dog. She searched his face, looking for something she hadn’t quite found yet. 

“Are you sure that’s it? That’s all that’s bothering you?” Natasha questioned. 

Even through the day’s chaos, all he could think about was Bucky, especially since the intrusive vision earlier in the apartment. Steve couldn’t hide it, and Natasha was particularly good at reading people— years of training as a Russian super-spy had taught her well. 

“There is something else…” Steve confessed. He told her all about the dreams and his fear that they were a warning sign that something horrible was about to happen to Bucky, about how the last dream had been more of premonition, with Bucky begging for his help. He left out the part about their dream romance just as he had done with Sam and Wanda, still not ready to verbalize it, even with Natasha. 

“Steve, Bucky’s fine,” Natasha started, offering reassurance. “He’s in the safest place in the world with one of the smartest people you know. If anything was wrong, she’d contact you. I think your mind is playing tricks on you. It knows you miss him, that’s all.”

“I don’t know... I can’t shake the feeling that something’s not right. Nat, the dreams are so vivid. Last night, it was like I couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t, like the dream had blended into reality. And earlier today, it didn’t feel like a dream at all. It was like I was there with him, like I could feel him, like I could tast—” Steve stopped, almost revealing his dream secret. “...I know that I miss him, I do, but this is more than that. This scares me.”

Natasha’s eyebrows furrowed, seeing the worried look on Steve’s face. “You really think he's in trouble, don’t you?” 

“Yes, I do.” Steve said sternly. 

“Ok, then, we’ll go there and check it out and make sure he’s ok...” Natasha said decisively, adding “...just as soon as we get ourselves out of this mess...” She looked around the boiler room, a loss for what to do. 

Steve looked at his watch. “It’s been an hour. If he really wanted us dead, I think he’d be here by now trying to get through that door,” he said, pointing at the large steel door in front of them. 

“Yeah, or he’s gonna blow our heads off as soon as we open it.” 

“Can’t be ruled out,” Steve said gloomily. 

“Any chance you caught a glimpse of him?” Natasha questioned. “Any identifying features, anything at all? Maybe if we had the slightest idea who he was, we could predict his next move.” 

Steve racked his brain, thinking of the millisecond that Hiro’s growls had forced him to look up and notice the gunman on top of the building. All he’d seen was the rifle pointing at them.

“No, nothing,” Steve said, discouraged. “What about you? Anyone on your tail recently besides Ross? Anyone want you dead?” 

Natasha tried to reply through her laughter. “Where should I begin?” 

Steve sighed. “So, we really have no idea who this guy is and what he wants?” 

“Affirmative.” Natasha leaned her head back and bounced it against the boiler in frustration.

Steve suddenly recalled Natasha’s comment from earlier and started, “You said that Fury had a source. Said that something big was about to happen here. Who was it? Was it regarding the gunman or Wanda’s spell, or both?” 

Natasha gave Steve an apologetic look. “Steve… you know I can't give you that information.”

Steve responded in frustration. “Really, Nat? After everything that’s happened? You still believe in compartmentalization? There is no S.H.I.E.L.D. anymore, remember? Whatever Fury's doing, it's his own thing. You don’t owe him anything. Its every man for himself now.”

Natasha looked at Steve disappointedly. “Steve, you don’t believe that.”

“Maybe I do,” Steve exhaled, conflicted. “But Nat, if there’s something you know that you're not telling me. If you know anything about this...,” Steve trailed, grimacing at his next words: “…or about Bucky...”

Natasha reassured him. “You can trust me. You know that.” She continued, “You said I don’t owe Fury anything. You’re wrong. I owe him everything, more than you know. I trust you with my life, Steve, but he’s the reason I have mine... so I can’t break that trust. Not now or ever. I’m sorry.” 

Steve nodded in defeat, realizing that Natasha would never budge, not when it came to Fury. In a way, Steve admired her and understood. It reminded him of his relationship with Bucky. There was no one else in the world he trusted more. After everything they’d been through, all the sacrifices, even dying, there was nothing anyone could do to break that trust and confidence he had in him and their relationship. 

Steve looked around the boiler room, defeated. How much longer could they stay in here?

“So, what no—”

Steve was interrupted by a loud bang coming from the other side of the boiler room door. They shot up, alert, anticipating the worst.


	10. The Plane

Natasha handed Steve a Glock from her thigh holster, taking the other for herself. They aimed their guns at the door, waiting for the chaos to begin. Hiro ran towards the door, jumping and scratching at the door with his front legs. He barked excitedly, his tail wagging. 

“Hiro, get back!” Steve demanded. 

“Bad dog,” Natasha said uncertainly, as if this was her first time directly addressing a dog. 

Hiro looked back at Steve and Natasha, panting, drool dripping from his tongue. 

Steve looked at the dog curiously and lowered his gun. Whatever or whoever was waiting for them on the other side of the door wasn’t eliciting the same response from Hiro that the gunman had earlier. No growling, no barking, just excitement. 

Steve approached Hiro and crouched down to pet his head, his ears sinking back contently. “You sure, boy?” Steve asked. Hiro barked an excited yelp, confirming to Steve that they were safe. 

Natasha looked at them, confused, gun still drawn. 

Steve looked up at Natasha. “I think we have our very own danger detector right here. He seems to think it’s ok,” Steve shrugged. 

Another bang on the door. Hiro yelped excitedly again, his tail wagging and hitting the door. 

“Ok... but if he’s wrong, he gets the chainsaw,” Natasha said, holstering her gun and gesturing to the giant chainsaw on the ground. 

Natasha stepped forward and placed both palms on the door, ready to push it open and hopefully meet their savior. She glanced at Steve one last time. “We’re really going to bank everything on a dog?” she asked uncertainly. 

Steve nodded. “He’s the reason we got away in the first place, isn’t it?” 

Natasha nodded reluctantly and pushed the door open slowly. Hiro ran through the crack, the sound of his scrambling paws on the ground giving way to a leap on the other side of the door. Steve heard the thump of a body falling followed by a laugh. Natasha pushed the door open the rest of the way, revealing Sam giddily horizontal on the ground as Hiro planted wet licks all over his face. 

Steve and Natasha breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Sam. 

Sam tried to talk through his laughs. “I’m here to save you,” he managed to get out. “But I think it’s you—” he paused as Hiro licked his mouth excitedly, “—who saved me.” Sam let out one last giggle as he rose from the ground. Hiro leapt off of him and scurried around the room, sniffing wherever his snout would fit. 

“My last girlfriend never loved me that much,” Sam chuckled, patting the dog fur off of his chest, finally looking at Steve and Natasha, his gaze zooming in on the blood-soaked bandages on Steve’s biceps. Sam’s eyebrows raised as he looked Steve up and down, noticing the limpness in his arms and the drained look in his face. 

“You ok, Steve?” Sam questioned, concerned. A stupid question for anyone else who had just taken a bullet in one bicep and a deep cut in the other and had spent the last hour in a hot enclosed room, but a reasonable question for the one person in the world who was genetically equipped to handle much worse. Natasha glanced him up and down as well, noting that his appearance had worsened since earlier. 

“Yeah, I’ll manage,” Steve said, panting quietly so as not to further concern them. “How did you find us?” Steve questioned Sam. 

“Saw everything from the apartment window,” Sam explained. “Wanda was still out cold. Didn’t know how long you’d be and didn’t want to chance anyone seeing us in the lobby, not knowing if her spell worked and all. So, I carried her back up to the apartment. Lied her down on her bed and put my Falcon gear on just in case. Glad I did. Just as I finished dressing, I heard the gunshots. Looked out the living room window and saw everything— the gunman, you getting shot in the arm, fleeing here.” 

Steve perked up at the thought of Sam catching the gunman. “So, did you follow him?” 

“Yeah. Got as far as an empty parking lot about a mile away in Forest Hills. I managed to evade him, but Steve...” Sam trailed off, the sound of his voice uncertain. 

“What is it, Sam?” Steve asked, worried about Sam’s change in tone. 

“He had a plane. I sent Redwing to track it, but the plane went invisible before I even had a chance.” Sam exhaled, preparing himself for his next words. “It’s quinjet tech, Steve. Stealth, untraceable.” 

Steve felt a tightness in his chest, a pit in his stomach that spread. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It couldn’t be, could it? 

“Are you telling me that was Tony?” Steve asked, looking Sam straight in the eyes. 

Sam bobbed his head around uncertainly, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m saying it’s possible, that’s all.” 

Steve shook his head, unconvinced. “No,” he said, hoping that it wasn’t true. “We had a falling out, yeah. But, this... no, he wouldn’t.” 

Sam laughed at Steve’s words. “A falling out?” Sam mocked. “Steve, you protected the man that murdered his parents. You embarrassed him in front of the world stage. Guy with an ego like that, with his resources... there’s no telling what he’d do to get revenge.” 

Natasha intervened, shaking her head, agreeing with Steve. “You’re wrong, Sam. Tony was hurt, yes... but this? We may not be apart of the super friends anymore, but he wouldn’t resort to something like this. This is Ross’s doing... or someone else... I don’t know,” her words trailed off, racking her brain for some explanation other than the one that Sam was touting. 

“All I’m saying is that we can’t rule it out, not yet,” Sam said. 

“Did you get a look at him? Anything?” Natasha asked. 

Sam sighed, shaking his head. “Black hood, black jumpsuit, covered from head to toe. No insignias, no symbols, nothing.” 

“What about the plane?” 

“It looked like a quinjet...” Sam trailed, his tone changing as if a revelation had just occurred to him. “...but shinier, sleeker.” 

“Not a lot to go on,” Natasha exhaled disappointedly, and a thought occurred to her as well. “You said he didn’t see you following him... and yet he didn’t come after us. He had the high ground; he saw exactly where we were. He could’ve come down here and waited for us to die in that room,” she pointed to the steel boiler room door, “or shot us down the moment we came out. But he didn’t. Why? If he didn’t want us dead, then what?” Natasha flailed her arms out, confused. 

They stared at each other, at a loss for words, unable to drudge up an explanation for the gunman’s actions. Natasha paced in front of the steel door, lost in thought, an answer slowly creeping to the forefront of her mind. As Natasha racked her brain, Hiro shot his snout up from the ground by the tool bench and searched the room with his eyes, stopping on Steve. He scurried over to Steve and swirled between his legs, whimpering like he just lost his favorite toy. Natasha stopped, watching as the dog moaned at Steve’s feet. Her face tightened, the answer coming to her. “Danger detector,” she whispered to herself, looking from Hiro to Steve to Hiro to Steve. 

Steve glanced down between his feet. The dog’s steady swirls worsened the dizziness he already felt. He brought both hands to his head, trying to stifle the pounding of his temples. Pools of sweat on his forehead flowed down his face and dripped to the floor. His pulse raced, his heart beating out of his chest. Steve couldn’t hide it anymore. Something was happening to him, and he needed help. He looked up at Natasha and Sam, weak, defeated. The last thing he saw before he passed out and hit the ground was the furl of Natasha’s brow and the curious, uneasy look on her face as she stared at the gunshot wound on his arm.


	11. Kemosabe

“…the story you’ve just heard is a copyrighted feature of Lone Ranger incorporated,” Steve and Bucky belted out in unison, overpowering the deep radio voice. They stood barefoot upon the couch cushions they’d pushed together on the living room floor, fingers perpendicular to their temples, saluting each other playfully as the radio program signed off. They laughed, Bucky plopping down on his cushion, while Steve walked to the corner table and turned the radio off. 

Bucky lied on his back with his arms crossed behind his head, staring up at the popcorn ceiling. Steve followed, lying next to Bucky and imitating his posture, looking up at the white ceiling as if it was a grand night sky full of unlimited possibilities. 

“Hey, Steve?” Bucky asked pensively, looking up into nothing. 

“Yeah, Buck?” Steve said, twisting his head to look admiringly at his best friend. 

“Why does Tonto call the Lone Ranger Kemosabe?”

Steve mulled the question. “I don’t know,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders. “I think it just means that he likes him, like how my mom calls me Stevie or how your dad calls you Good luck Buck.”

Bucky smiled, swiveling his head to meet Steve’s, their eyes locking. “In that case, can I call you my Kemosabe?” 

Steve’s heart skipped a beat. “Yeah, Buck,” he said, his voice catching in his throat, a bead of sweat forming on his brow. 

Bucky swiveled his head back to the ceiling stars. “Good,” he said proudly. “Now that you’re my sidekick, I know you’ll always be with me to the end of the line, just like Tonto and the Lone Ranger, right Steve?” 

“Yeah, Buck,” Steve said. “I’m with you till the end of the line.”

Bucky exhaled and turned his body to the side to face Steve, his palm resting against the side of his head. Their eyes met again. Bucky inched closer to Steve, almost crossing over to his cushion. 

Bucky cleared his throat. “So…” he kept his eyes firmly on Steve’s, “what do you think they do in their free time?” 

Steve disappeared into Bucky’s eyes, barely hearing him. “Who?” he questioned, as if coming out of a daze. 

Bucky laughed. “Lone Ranger and Tonto, silly,” he said, poking Steve playfully in the chest over his pajama top. 

It took everything within Steve not to react to Bucky’s touch. On the surface, Steve succeeded. But down under… well, that was a different story.

“Oh,” Steve said, contemplating the question. “I think they fish.” 

“Fish?” Bucky said, his face scrunching. 

“Yeah,” Steve confirmed confidently. “I think they take a boat out and relax on the lake. They probably feed the ducks while they fish, and watch the sunset too. They’re life is so full of adventures and stuff, they gotta take it easy sometimes, right?”

Steve searched Bucky for agreement. Bucky relaxed his face and raised his eyebrows, acknowledging the logic of the statement. 

“What do you think they do?” Steve asked. 

Bucky thought about it for a moment and smiled, winking at Steve, saying “I think they fish, too.”

Suddenly Bucky’s face lit up with excitement as he extended his free hand to Steve’s face, scooping up an eyelash on his nose.

“Make a wish!” Bucky exclaimed, presenting his eyelash-strewn finger to Steve’s mouth. 

Steve stared at the eyelash on Bucky’s finger and quickly blew it away. 

Bucky flipped with surprise. “Woah, you didn’t even think about it! Did you even wish for anything?”

Steve blushed, confessing. “Actually, no, I didn’t.”

Bucky nudged Steve’s torso with his hand, disappointed. “Why the hell not? I had it right there for you.”

Steve exhaled. “I don’t need any wishes. I have everything I want,” Steve said, nervously rolling his eyes around the room, adding “… I have you.” 

Bucky smiled lovingly and leaned forward to hug Steve, Steve's bulge stabbing Bucky’s thigh. Surprised, Bucky leaned back and looked down at the bulge, then back up at Steve, their eyes meeting. A common understanding passed between them. 

“Is that a totem pole in your pocket, Kemosabe?” Bucky whispered, teasing Steve. 

Steve let out a small nervous laugh. Bucky leaned forward again and stroked one hand through Steve’s hair, letting the other hand travel downward. “Is this ok?” He asked Steve, unsure. 

Steve nodded. 

Bucky grazed his palm across Steve’s cheek and searched for a flaw in his face, coming up short. His heart pounded deep inside of his chest, knowing it would all be over if Steve’s mom had walked into the room.

Steve could hear his heartbeat in his throat, the vibrations sending waves of longing throughout his whole body. He raised his palm and placed it on Bucky’s chest, feeling his fast pulse, in sync with his. 

Their foreheads met and their breathing intensified, a slight sheen of perspiration forming across their faces. They closed their eyes, drifting their mouths together in unison as their lips became entwined in a warm kiss. Fireworks erupted as they gently consumed one other.


	12. The Syringe

Steve awoke in a back passenger seat of the quinjet, Wanda passed out in the seat next to him. From the looks of it, she hadn’t regained consciousness since the spell from earlier. She had on the same red tank and cut off shorts, and her face was still just as pale. Sam and Natasha sat in the front seats, Sam piloting and Natasha acting as copilot to his right.

The clear blue sky outside the cockpit window and the smooth ride told Steve that they must have been in the air for at least thirty minutes. As to where they were going and why, he didn’t know. Steve racked his brain for an explanation, and then it came to him— the last thing he recalled was passing out in the boiler room and his body succumbing to what had felt like some sort of poison. His muscles tensed as he remembered. Steve looked down and noticed that the makeshift blue bandages on his biceps had been replaced with real bandages, the blood trails that had once coursed down his arms now gone. His bare torso gently oscillated with shallow breaths and his head ached.

Between the ache in his head and the pain in his arms, all he could think about was the newest dream he had just woken up from. His muscles relaxed thinking about the adolescent romance between Bucky and himself. Bucky’s words played over and over in his mind: _Can I call you my Kemosabe?... I think they fish, too… Is that a totem pole in your pocket?_ Had this been Bucky’s latest attempt at infiltrating his dreams? And if so, why hadn’t Bucky called out for help this time? Were Sam, Wanda, and Nat right... were the dreams just that—dreams? Whatever the case, Steve couldn’t deny the comfort he felt with this last dream. Finally, a dream that hadn’t ended in death or uncertainty. He breathed in a little easier thinking about it. In a way, it had felt more like a memory, like it wasn’t a dream at all. But that was absurd, right? He had never had a romantic relationship with Bucky when they were adults, either before or after the serum, let alone when they were kids.

Natasha swerved her head back from the co-pilots seat at the sound of Steve awakening. “Hi, Sleeping Beauty,” she said, swiveling her chair around to face Steve.

Steve set aside his thoughts about the dream and came back to reality. “How long was I out?” he asked, raising a hand to his pulsating temple.

“About five hours. How do you feel?” Natasha asked, a worried look on her face.

Steve exhaled, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. “Like a normal person who just got shot in the arm,” he said. He opened his eyes and looked at Natasha, “...which is concerning.”

Sam glanced back from his seat, addressing Steve. “You said you didn’t want to be Cap anymore,” he said, adding gloomily, “...maybe you got your wish.” He nodded his head at Natasha, as if giving her the okay to proceed with some sort of presentation.

Natasha dipped her hand into her left breast pocket, taking out a piece of metal resembling a used bullet with what appeared to be a tiny empty syringe attached to one end. She held it up for Steve to see.

Steve studied the device, confused. “What is it?”

Natasha started. “After you passed out, I realized the only reason the gunman didn’t pursue us any further is because he’d already accomplished his goal. Think about it, Steve. He could’ve taken us out easily from his vantage point, so why didn’t he? It's because his only mission was to hit you with this,” she looked at the bullet in her hand. “He missed your brachial artery by a whopping five inches. He never wanted you dead. And since he left without hitting me, it had to have something to do with you specifically. Something that makes you special...”

“The serum,” Steve said flatly, unable to process the information.

Natasha nodded. “Sam dug this out of your arm. Thankfully it wasn’t lodged in very deep. Like I said, he missed your brachial artery intentionally. All he needed was for the bullet to penetrate deep enough to inject whatever was in here,” she said, tapping on the clear empty syringe on the end of the bullet, adding, “...which it did. There’s only a drop or two left,” she said, pointing to a small film of blue fluid in the corner of the syringe barrel.

Steve felt his heartbeat rising again, sweat forming on his forehead. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself from the uncertainty of the situation. He had to ask the question that loomed over him, the question he feared he already knew the answer to. He inhaled. “...You’re saying that whatever he shot me with may be deactivating my serum?”

Natasha put the bullet back in her breast pocket, averting her gaze from him. “We’re not sure, but that’s the theory.” She leaned forward in her chair, returning her gaze to Steve, continuing. “It would explain a lot, though—why the pain affected you so much, how you couldn’t even raise your arms before, why you passed out. Something is weakening you, Steve.”

Steve looked out the cockpit window at the peaceful blue sky, wishing he could go back to his dream world, just him and Bucky and their adolescent love, anywhere but here in these circumstances. Not being Cap anymore was one thing, but a life without the serum was quite another. Without Cap, at least he’d still have a place in the world, would still have a mission, could still fight. But without the serum? What purpose would he serve? He’d go back to being just another scrawny kid from Brooklyn, just another guy.

“Why?” Steve asked, looking back at Natasha, the grief in his face clear as day, puzzled as to why anyone would do this, or who. “Why not just kill me?”

Sam and Natasha looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders, at a loss for an answer.

Steve got up from his chair, slowly at first, a dizzy spell coming over him as he did so. He stumbled as he rose, nearly falling to his side.

“Steve!” Natasha said, jumping up, readying herself to catch him.

“I’m fine,” Steve said, shooing her away.

His head was on fire and his muscles tensed with uncertainty, but he needed to move around, needed to get the blood flowing to the rest of his body, needed to do something. He paced the cockpit, thinking of an answer. He stopped at the corner window and leaned his right forearm against the window frame, his back to Steve and Natasha. He looked at his arm, surprised that he was able to elevate it without much pain, that he could lean his weight against it. The muscles in his forearm flexed and the veins protruded out, following a path all the way up to his bicep and under his bandage, emerging on the other side and continuing to his torso. The veins that were pumped full of the super soldier serum eighty years ago, the veins that had endured a World War, a deep sleep in the ice, an alien invasion. How could it all be coming to an end? He’d never felt this much pain in his body before, and yet... he could still feel the energy of the serum within him, could still see it right there in the strength of his arms.

Steve whipped around, a question forming on his face. He looked down and studied his own body.

“How come I still look like this, then...?” He asked, looking up at Sam and Natasha. “...if it’s really some sort of antidote or poison? The serum made me look this way. If it’s really negating the effects, then shouldn’t I be turning back more quickly? The serum took five minutes to alter my body, wouldn’t that be the first thing to disappear?”

Natasha nodded her head, agreeing that nothing seemed to make sense. “That’s why we’re on our way to Wakanda,” she said. “If anyone can help, it’s them. All our contacts here are dry. Fury’s gone dark. Even after what happened in Flushing, I couldn’t get a hold of him.”

Suddenly Steve was reminded of the incident in Flushing. How could he have been so selfish, worrying about himself and the serum, when the whole city of Flushing was still gone, when Wanda was still passed out, when Bucky still needed his help. How could they even begin to think about anything else right now? Steve couldn’t deny that he was glad they were headed to Wakanda, that much closer to Bucky, but at what cost? Could they just leave everyone behind back in Flushing and do nothing?

“We have to go back,” Steve said, sick to his stomach that they could just abandon the city like that. “We have to fix it. We can’t just let a whole city disappear.” Steve felt another dizzy spell coming on at the thought, and quickly sat down.

Natasha explained that they had a plan. They were dead in the water when it came to Wanda’s condition and the disappearances in Flushing, with no ideas on how to proceed. Their trip to Wakanda would serve multiple purposes. One: check Steve’s condition and analyze the bullet-syringe liquid, two: find someone to help Wanda so she could wake up and reverse the spell, and three: make sure Bucky was safe. 

Natasha finished, adding that they had about ten hours of flight time left until they reached Wakanda, enough time for Steve to get all the rest he desired. Natasha asked Steve for the coordinates, neither her nor Sam knowing exactly where Wakanda was. 

Steve laughed. “So, you hopped us all on the quinjet without the slightest idea of where you were headed?” 

Natahsa replied uncertainly, “We knew the general direction. You know... south... and east?”

“Otherwise known as southeast,” Sam said, nodding his head proudly. 

Steve added the coordinates into the GPS system and sat back down, preparing to nap the rest of the way there. Just as he closed his eyes, a loud scream to his right startled him awake. It was Wanda, she had finally woken up from her deep sleep. Steve, Nat, and Sam all jerked their heads toward her, confused as her screams morphed into words and sentences that sounded like she was speaking Chinese. 


	13. The Vessel

Steve rose from his seat and tried to calm down Wanda. He grabbed her arms, but Wanda smacked them away easily, flailing her elbows around like a mad woman. She screamed at the top of her lungs, speaking a million words a minute in a foreign language that sounded like Chinese. She rose from her seat and backed into the corner of the cockpit in fear, slouching down until she was sitting with her hands wrapped around her legs and her head buried in her knees.

Sam hurried over and tried to help. “Esta bien. Somos amigos,” he said, surrendering his palms up in the air.

“Spanish and Chinese aren’t exactly similar languages,” Natasha said, preparing herself for a struggle.

“Better than nothing,” Sam replied, carefully inching closer to Wanda as she continued to cry out hysterically. He knelt down beside her and tried to console her by placing his palm on her shoulder. This only made her scream louder, forcing her to shoot up in terror and run out of the cockpit and into the storage bay.

“This is exactly what we need right now,” Steve said, exhaling, just about done with the day’s challenges.

They followed Wanda back to the storage bay, watching as she stood in the middle of the bay, her hands over her ears, tears rolling down her face as she continued to cry out words they didn’t understand. She banged her hands against her head and pulled out chunks of her hair, throwing them to the ground.

“Oh God, what do we do?” Sam asked as they all looked in horror and confusion.

Finally, amid Wanda’s gibberish, one word stood out sandwiched amongst the rest: “Flushing.” Suddenly, her body began to twist and jerk, as if transforming into someone or something else. The transformation was an internal one, only apparent on the outside by her new demeanor. She stopped and lowered her hands to her sides, her eyes searching the storage bay in confusion. What was once terror and fearful insanity now transformed into helplessness. She locked eyes with Steve. “Please help me,” she pleaded in a voice so tiny that it didn’t sound like Wanda at all, but more like a lost child. “My dad... he disappeared right in front of me. I don’t know what happened, where he went. We were at the fruit stand in downtown Flushing. Others disappeared, too. Oh, God… did I disappear? Where am I? What’s happening to me?!”

The lost little child that spoke through Wanda suddenly froze. Her body twisted again, transformed again... this time the voice of an angry old woman speaking Spanish. Another transformation... now the voice of a curious teenager.

Like a punch to the gut, Steve thought he understood now. All the different languages, the different voices that seemed to come out of her, the terror and confusion. It wasn’t Wanda. It was everyone that had disappeared in Flushing, all somehow trapped inside of her, all wanting to come out. But Wanda still had to be in there somewhere, didn’t she… deep down?

Just then, an invisible force seemed to take hold of Wanda. Her body straightened and tensed, her neck whipped up, and she elevated off the ground. Her eyes turned bright red, glowing in the shade of the bay. Lightning began to strike around her, enclosing her in a cocoon. Steve backed up, Nat and Sam following suit behind him.

“Wanda!” Steve shouted, wishing he could do something to help.

From the back corner of the bay behind Wanda, Steve could just make out a figure emerging from the shadows. It scurried around the lightning and ran toward Steve. Hiro. The dog sat next to him, watching as Wanda floated in a prison of light.

Steve looked down at the dog, an idea forming in his head.

“Wanda...” Steve started. “I know you’re in there somewhere. You have to come back to us. Please...” Steve knelt down next to Hiro, “This dog, his name is Hiro. He’s alive because of you. Your spell spared him, or brought him back.... I don’t know. But that means there’s hope for the others. All we need is for you to come back to us so we can figure this out. Please...”

Wanda spoke as herself, finally ripping through the crowd that invaded her mind. “They’re all here inside me. I can feel them... their pain, their fear, their love. I don’t know how much longer I can take it. It’s too much.” she cried.

Steve exhaled, relieved that she was still in there. “We’ll help you. You’re not alone. But you have to come back to us. We need to start somewhere. We’ll figure it out together, I promise.”

The lightning radius started to spread and the invisible force holding Wanda tightened its grip, in defiance of Steve’s words. Wanda levitated higher, nearly reaching the ceiling. Steve averted his gaze to Hiro and ruffled the fur on his head, staring directly into his eyes. “Alright, boy. You’ve saved our hide today more times than I can count. You ready for one more?”

The dog yelped in confirmation, kicking its feet as it lunged forward, jumping into the lightning circle. The force took hold of the dog, elevating him off the ground and up into the air next to Wanda. The lightning that once encircled them re-routed and coursed through the dog. The force loosened its grip on Wanda, sending her falling down to the floor. The dog hovered in the air for a moment as the lightning finished coursing through him, fading away as it fully absorbed into his body. A small spark of red appeared in his eyes just before he fell to the ground beside Wanda and passed out. 


	14. The Silver Man

After the chaos, Sam found a twin-sized inflatable air mattress amongst the supplies in the cargo bay. He inflated it and lied Wanda and Hiro down upon it, itself just barely fitting into the empty center of the bay. Steve watched as Wanda and Hiro breathed in unison, Hiro curled up by Wanda’s side, as if their essences had somehow combined. Steve wasn’t exactly sure what he witnessed just minutes ago, but he was hopeful that it would somehow lead to them solving this thing with Wanda and the disappearing city. Steve thought about how he’d known to send Hiro into the lightning. Something within him had known, unexplainably, to send him through. Something deep down that had bubbled to the surface. But why, and how? Did he have some magical connection to Hiro, being the person who found him? Was there something more to Hiro, some special reason he had survived Wanda’s spell? Or did this have to do with the dreams, was it all connected to Bucky somehow? 

Steve returned to the back passenger seat, closing his eyes, intent on getting some rest. His body still ached. All he wanted to do was escape the reality of his situation and dream about something better, about Bucky. Natasha and Sam returned to their seats in front of him. Natasha glanced back at Steve and gave him a smile and a nod, as if ensuring him that everything would be ok, that they would get through this like they’d gotten through everything else. 

The last thing Steve saw before he drifted off to sleep was the clear blue sky outside the cockpit window, and the last thing he heard was the steady hum of the quinjet engine, gliding them on their way to Wakanda. 

Steve opened his eyes to find himself back at the lake. He was lucid dreaming, much like he had done back at the apartment when he kissed Bucky in the chamber. Steve looked down to see that he was lying on his side on the blanket by the bank. He held Bucky tight against him. They were both naked. Sweat had accumulated on Steve’s forehead and all over the rest of his body and he felt his hips slowly pumping away. Bucky moaned in ecstasy and turned his head back to kiss Steve. Steve accepted the kiss, taking Bucky’s tongue inside of him. The warmth in Steve’s mouth comforted him more than he could describe, but it was nothing compared to the tight warmth he felt down below. It felt like he was home, like it had always been like this, like Bucky was his and would always remain his, forever. His Bucky boy, his Lone Ranger. 

Steve ran his hand through Bucky’s wild hair and squeezed him closer into him with his other hand, determined to make their bodies one. Steve’s heart rate climbed as he felt himself reaching completion. He buried his head into Bucky’s neck and got lost in his sweet aroma. How was it possible that he hungered for him so much? How had he just discovered this now? Bucky pressed his body back into Steve’s and cried out in pleasure as he released himself all over the blanket in front of him. Steve wasn’t far behind, taking one last plunge into Bucky. Steve’s whole body vibrated with warmth as he injected his essence into Bucky, taking pleasure in the fact that they had now become one. Steve exhaled and closed his eyes, letting his seed marinate inside of Bucky for as long as he could. They lied there, still and content, for what seemed like hours, stewing in each other’s juices, in each other’s love. 

Finally, Steve released Bucky from his grasp and felt himself slip out of him. Steve lied on his back and opened his eyes, staring up at the cloudless blue sky, the forest trees bordering his view. Bucky rolled over and lied his head onto Steve’s chest, wrapping his arm across him. 

“I love you,” Bucky said, still catching his breath. 

Steve gripped Bucky tight. “I love you, too.” The words came out easier than Steve thought, and also more difficult. Steve almost regretted saying it, as the reality of their situation started to creep forward in his mind. What did this mean for their future? How would their friends react, the world? Would they have to hide this part of their lives forever? But wasn’t this all just a dream anyways? There was no way to find out how Bucky had really felt, was there? After all, how could Steve be sure which version of Bucky he had been dealing with in his dreams? Was it Winter Soldier Bucky, Bucky Bucky, dream Bucky, or something else entirely? 

“Bucky, I need to ask you something,” Steve started, figuring that he should take advantage of his lucidity. 

“Ask away, Kemosabe,” Bucky said. 

Steve rose up onto his forearms and looked Bucky straight in the eyes. “Are you in trouble, in Wakanda?” 

Bucky looked at him with confusion. “Trouble? Why would I be in trouble? They’re helping me.” 

“It’s just... before, you asked for my help.” 

“Steve, I--” 

Suddenly, as if out of thin air, Bucky was overtaken by fear, by pain. His face twisted in knots and his body squirmed. He brought his hands to his head and shook it, chanting something under his breath. It sounded like a language Steve had never heard before. Similar to Wakandan, but not quite. Bucky pulled at his hair, yanking out chunks and throwing them to the ground in between sobs. Then he pulled so hard that he tore off his scalp, resulting in his body splitting down the middle in two like a zipper, folding down upon itself and revealing not bone and muscle underneath, but a green shrub. The shrub grew higher as Bucky’s flesh plopped to the floor and disintegrated into silver pools, like mercury, at the foot of the shrub. The shrub was shaped like a rosebush, and had large purple flowers that resembled tulips, with glowing golden pistils at their centers. 

The silver pools at the foot of the shrub condensed and rose from the ground, inflating up like a shiny silver blob that eventually took the shape of a man. The silver began to dissipate, revealing a man with long grey dreadlocks that reached past his waist and a bushy grey beard to match. He wore a purple and blue patterned dashiki and blue pants. The man appeared no older than fifty, yet he leaned on a golden cane with a snake’s head at the tip. He raised the cane and pointed it accusingly at Steve. Steve felt waves of exhaustion come over him, forcing his heavy eyes to close. 

Steve opened his eyes to find himself back in the quinjet cockpit. The clear blue sky from before had now turned dark and quiet. Steve felt a sense of rest in spite of the dream’s mysterious and confusing ending. He felt a warmness in the pit of his stomach and his chest at the thought of being inside of Bucky. Nothing could take that moment away from him, not even the ominous images that had followed. Steve exhaled and closed his eyes again, basking in the peace of his love for a couple more minutes before coming back to reality. 

When he opened his eyes, reality punched him in the face, as Wanda stood there in front of him crying, her hands over her mouth.


	15. Wakanda

The group filled Wanda in on everything that had transpired since she’d been unconscious—the disappearing city, the gunman, the mysterious bullet-syringe, Steve losing his strength. Wanda sat next to Steve in the back passenger seat behind Natasha and Sam and shook her head in disbelief. “And this dog, Hiro... how did he save me?” Wanda asked. 

Steve shook his head. “I’m not sure, but he’s been an indispensable addition to the team ever since I found him in that car in Flushing. Which is why we need to figure out this thing as fast as we can in order to reverse the spell. With your head clear now, we have to assume that all of those people are now stuck inside him. There’s no telling what’ll happen if—or when, he wakes up.” 

Wanda exhaled and looked down into her lap, avoiding eye contact with her teammates. “I knew something was off,” she said, almost embarrassed. “For the last week, something didn’t feel right, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I figured it was just Vision, that maybe my connection with him was deepening, and I was just feeling his grief.” She hesitated. ”... But now I think it was something else.” 

“What do you mean, something else?” Steve asked. 

Wanda looked up at Steve, meeting his eyes. “When I told you I was confident I could do the spell, I meant it. Even though I sensed something was off, I still knew I could do it. What happened to me wasn’t my fault. Someone interfered with the spell.” 

Steve sat back in shock. Natasha and Sam glanced at each other curiously. 

“You’re saying that someone’s been watching us? Who?” 

Wanda shook her head. “I don’t know. Whoever or whatever it is, it’s strong. I can sense it, even now, listening, waiting...” 

Steve’s thoughts flashed on the gunman, to the bullets whizzing past him and Natasha, to the stinging pain in his arms. Was this all his doing? Was this all a part of his plan: the spell gone wrong, the disappearing city, the gunshot wound and whatever had been injected into him? Sam had guessed that it was Tony, but it couldn’t be, could it? 

Steve could feel his chest tighten. His fingers tingled. 

Sam spoke up from the pilot seat. “I have a confession to make, too...” he started. All eyes diverted to him. He paused. “...Steve’s not the only one who’s been having bad dreams.” The air in cockpit thickened. 

They stayed silent for what seemed like minutes, weighing the significance of these new revelations. They had all experienced something unusual in the past week, whether it was bad dreams or simply a feeling of unease. Steve thought about his own dreams and what he thought they had meant. He was so sure it was Bucky, somehow reaching out for help. Exactly how, he didn’t know. But now he wasn’t sure what he thought. Was it possible that it was someone else, or something else, something that had wanted to harm them? Was Bucky actually fine in Wakanda? And what did this mean for his newfound feelings for Bucky? Were they real, or had they simply been implanted by whoever was messing with them, and why? 

Wanda broke the silence. “Well, it seems we’ve all been less than truthful with one another. Natasha, is there anything you’d like to add?” Wanda asked. 

Natasha shook her head blankly. 

“Nothing?” Wanda asked accusingly. “... like how you even came to be here?” 

Natasha shook her head, defending herself. “Hey, I was just following orders.” 

Steve interrupted. “Her loyalties lie elsewhere. She won’t tell us anything.” 

“That’s not fair,” Natasha said. “After everything that’s happened, you know you can trust me. All of you.” 

“Can we?” Wanda questioned. “You sided with Tony, didn’t you? How do we know you’re not still working for him? And what a coincidence that you just happened to show up as soon as things started to go south here.” 

“I told you, just like I told Steve earlier: Fury had a source who said something big was happening near the safe house. That’s all I know,” Natasha said. 

“But you won’t reveal the source. Why? Was it Vision? Do you know where he is?” 

Natasha sighed. “I can’t tell you that.” 

“See,” Steve said, shaking his head. 

Wanda rose from her seat and clenched her hands, red sparks flickering from her fists. “If you know where he is and you’re not telling me.” 

Sam jumped up from the pilot seat and held Wanda back. “Hey, let's all just calm down, ok? This is the last thing we need right now. We fought the civil war already, remember? We lost.” 

Wanda calmed down and retreated back into her seat, as did Sam. 

“All we have right now is each other,” Sam said. 

Wanda crouched her head down and sighed, ready for the day to be over. Then she raised an eyebrow at what she saw underneath her seat. “Since when do we keep a chainsaw on the quinjet?” 

“Nat, tell me you didn’t,” Steve said, lightening the mood. 

Sam rolled his eyes and addressed Steve. “I tried to convince her to leave it behind. Frankly, I’m surprised she had the energy to go back for it after we lugged your heavy ass up those basement steps.” 

Natasha shrugged her shoulders and smiled. “What, you never know when it might come in handy.” 

They sat in silence for the next ten minutes, enjoying what little of it they had left before they reached Wakanda. Thin rays of orange sunlight began to penetrate through the windows, lighting up the cockpit with a soft glow. 

Steve watched as the black cloudless sky gave way to the blue and orange of the day, thinking about the last dream again, about the warmth he’d felt, about how nothing else had seemed to matter in that moment when he’d been inside of Bucky. But like so many of his other dreams, it had ended in tragedy, this time Bucky sealing his own dark fate. Steve thought about the purple flowers rising from Bucky’s remains, about the dread-locked man with the snake cane. What had it meant? Was Bucky still in trouble, like Steve had thought since the beginning, or was he being played? Had they all fallen victim to some unstoppable force, more powerful than Wanda, even, and, if so, why? And did it have anything to do with the gunman, with the syringe-capped bullet that had injected some sort of serum into him and left him weaker than he’d ever been before? 

Steve’s thoughts were interrupted by the beeping of the GPS up front. Sam pressed a few buttons on the cockpit dashboard and then swung his head back, giving Steve a concerned look. 

“GPS and comms just went out,” Sam said. 

“What? How?” Steve asked. 

“You’re guess is as good as mine. One minute, perfectly fine, the next, nothing.” 

Natasha furled her brow. “Tony designed the quinjet with backup systems and AI that could take over in the event of countless unforeseen obstacles. How is that even possible?” 

Sam shook his head, dumbfounded. 

Steve rose from his chair and joined Sam and Natasha in front. He looked down. Half of the panel lights had gone dark. He racked his brain for something that could bring the comms back, and then remembered the system reset hack that Tony had taught him years ago. It was a complex sequence of buttons that needed to be pushed in exact order, but Steve had memorized it nevertheless. He took a death breath and started the sequence. The panel shut off as he raised his finger from the last button. It quickly rebooted, but the comms still remained dark. 

“Damnit!” Steve said, pounding his arm onto the dashboard, forgetting about his wounds. The pain pulsated from his right bicep down into his hand and up to his shoulder. He winced. 

Steve looked outside the cockpit window and down upon the green jungle of central Africa, wondering how far they were from their destination: the Golden city, the capital of Wakanda and the home of T’Challa, where giant golden skyscrapers pierced the sky and a larger-than-life statue of a black panther looked down upon the city. There was only one problem: the bubble that hid all of this from the world. The Wakandans were secretive, and thus far had hidden their technological advancements from the world. The bubble could be anywhere. They could glide through it at any moment and be right in the heart of the Golden City, or, if Wakandan protective shields were up, they could crash into it without even knowing. 

Far off on the horizon, Steve saw the twinkling of a large blue body of water. A sudden feeling of familiarity came over him, like he’d been there before, even though he knew he couldn’t have been. The last and only time he’d been to Wakanda was just one week ago, and that was in the Golden City in Shuri’s lab, where Steve had last seen Bucky. But he knew that Wakandan fisherman and farming villages lied on the southern tip of Wakanda beyond the bubble, where life was quieter and where small huts and barns sprinkled the land. 

As the quinjet creeped closer to the water, suddenly Steve knew what he was looking at. It was the lake from his dreams. The quiet lake where he had held Bucky in his arms at the edge of the bank— it was Wakanda. Of course it was, he thought. How could he have not known it before? Was this Bucky’s way of telling him to land near the lake, or was this simply a trap set by their mysterious assailant? The assailant whose name they didn’t know, whose face they hadn’t seen, but whose power Wanda had felt so intensely. 

One thing was certain in Steve’s mind. With their comms down, they had no way of communicating with T’Challa, and they couldn’t chance crashing into the bubble. They’d have to land somewhere in the southern villages and seek the help of the local residents. But they’d have to stay on their guard, that much was certain. 

The team agreed with Steve’s thoughts, and they set course for a small fisherman village by the lake. When they finally came upon it and landed the quinjet close to the bank, Steve got out and was shocked by how much the scene reminded him of his dream, a lake amongst a forest of surrounding trees. He walked to the edge of the bank and looked out across the water, watching as a family of ducks passed by. A lone duckling struggled to keep up, its quacks stifled by the rest of its family. Steve thought about the events of the last week and how he had decided to abandon his Captain America identity. He exhaled, now content with that decision for the first time, thinking that even if he and Tony were to become civil again and the price on his head were to be dropped, he’d still make the same decision. He’d made too many mistakes, lost too many friends. No, it was time for him to move on. Maybe the gunman’s antidote to his super soldier serum (if that’s indeed what it was) was a blessing in disguise. Maybe he was meant to help people in another way. He’d been so selfish all those years ago, demanding that he be enlisted in the war even though he knew his body couldn’t take it, wasting all those recruiters’ time and money. How far would he have taken it if Abraham Erskine hadn’t found him? Maybe this was the price he had to pay, the world finally collecting its debt. 

Steve glanced down at the bandages over his wounds, forgetting that he was still shirtless. The breeze off the lake sent a slight chill through his body. Suddenly a familiar voice from behind him interrupted his thoughts. 

“Steve?” 

Steve turned around to see Bucky standing in front of him. It was like out of one of his dreams, like this moment had been foretold. Bucky wore a red plaid tunic, belted at the waist, with a brown shawl over his neck that skewed over his left arm and torso, covering what little of the bionic arm was left. Steve thought he looked ten years younger compared to the last time he’d seen him just one week ago, but somehow wiser too. Bucky smiled warmly at him, and Steve prayed that he was real, that this wasn’t a dream. 

Steve felt his heart rate jump, felt the sweat pool on his forehead. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something horrible was about to happen, just like it always had in his dreams. His breathing intensified as he tried to step forward. All he wanted to do was take Bucky into his arms and admit his love to him, but the fear was too strong. The fear of rejection, the fear of Bucky’s life in danger, the fear of his place in the world, of their place in the world together. The ground seemed to shift as he took another step forward. His head suddenly felt ten times heavier. His vision danced in front of him and his knees buckled, feeling numb. He finally collapsed into Bucky’s embrace, succumbing to his exhaustion and his anxieties. The last thing he thought before he passed out was that all he wanted was to be Steve and Bucky again, no Captain America, no wars, no Avengers. Just them, and nothing else.


	16. The Tent

Italy 1943. The 107th Infantry. 

The members of the 107th infantry trickled back to their tents as the night came to an end, intent on getting a good night's rest. They’d spent the entire day and night celebrating their victory against Hydra and Johann Schmidt, and cheering on their new hero: Steve Rogers, Captain America. Most of the men hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours, not since they’d endured the long trek from Hydra’s Austrian base back to their own base in northern Italy. 

A few soldiers remained out by the bonfire, including Bucky, Steve, and a few of the howling commandos. Bucky took a sip from his last beer and watched as Dum Dum Dugan rose from his chair and stretched his entire body, moaning with each cracked bone. Dum Dum threw his cigar stub into the bonfire and tipped his bowler hat at the remaining soldiers before he left. 

“Fuck yeah, Captain America!” Dum Dum yelled into the clear night sky as he walked away and returned to his tent. 

Steve laughed next to Bucky. 

Agent Carter emerged from the shadows to address the soldiers. “Good evening, gentleman,” she said, and then addressed Steve directly. “Can I borrow you for a minute?” She looked him up and down and softly encircled her ear with her hand, making sure every hair was in place. 

Steve nodded and stumbled out of his chair, pressing the wrinkles out of his uniform. He said goodbye to the remaining soldiers before addressing Bucky directly, saying “Good night, Buck. It’s good to see you again.” 

“Likewise,” Bucky said, smiling. 

Bucky’s smile faded as he watched Steve and Agent Carter walk back to Steve’s tent. 

“Those two,” said one of the remaining commandos, laughing and making kissing noises. 

Not long after, the last remaining soldiers returned to their tents, leaving Bucky alone by the fire. He downed the last of his beer, tossing it into the large pile of empty bottles he’d accumulated over the course of the day. He’d hoped the alcohol would numb the pain, but it hadn’t. Even the heat from the still-strong bonfire couldn’t warm Bucky’s cold mood. 

The laughs of a few soldiers from a nearby tent echoed through the air. Even now, the excitement of the day was still palpable. Bucky wished he could share in that excitement, but he couldn’t. Not after so much had been taken away from him. Not after the serum had caused Steve to come back, well... different. 

Of course, Bucky was grateful to be alive, grateful that Steve had rescued him from Schmidt’s base, and from Zola’s lab. Still, there was no telling what kinds of experiments Zola had done on him. But at least he hadn’t felt any different, at least he still knew who he was, not like Steve. How could the serum have changed Steve so much? And was Steve even aware of the changes himself? 

Bucky put out the fire and walked across the base toward his tent. About half of the tents still had their lanterns on, and their glow in the dark twinkled at him like a hundred stars. As he came upon his own tent, he saw Agent Carter leaving the one next to his. It was Steve’s. This was his chance to confront him, to finally have a moment alone with Steve since he'd rescued him yesterday at the Hydra base, to see what was really going on, to see if the serum had indeed changed him as much as Bucky had thought. 

Bucky pulled back the green mesh and walked inside the tent. Steve was in the middle of undressing, his back to Bucky. 

“I thought I told you not to do anything stupid until I got back,” Bucky said, grinning. 

Steve jumped, quickly pulling up his underwear. “Give me a heart attack, Buck,” he said, and turned around to face Bucky, wearing nothing but his tighty whities, his usual bedtime attire. The small tent itself was tidy and clean, the bed still made. A lantern sat on the desk in the corner. Steve cranked up the brightness to see Bucky better. 

“How could I? You took all the stupid with you.” Steve smiled goofily. 

“So, should I start calling you Cap now?” Bucky asked, pointing to a poster of Steve dressed as Captain America on the far wall of the tent. “Sorry I missed your show,” he said. 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Believe me, you didn’t miss much. I think my days in entertainment are over. And no, just Steve is fine, Buck.” 

“How about my kemosabe?” Bucky asked under his breath, just loud enough for Steve to hear. 

“What was that?” Steve asked. 

“Nothing,” Bucky said, clearing his throat. “So, the uh... the serum, I take it?” he asked, nodding his head up and down at Steve’s body. 

Steve glanced down at his large physique, the glimmer from the lantern reflecting off of his curves. “Yeah, can you believe it?” he laughed. 

“Can’t believe they finally took you in. After what, seven, eight hundred tries?” Bucky smirked. 

“Yeah, Erskine really believed in me,” Steve said, bittersweet. 

“Erskine?” Bucky asked. 

“Abraham Erskine. The creator of the serum. He chose me from hundreds, maybe thousands of candidates.” 

“Smart man,” Bucky said. 

Steve began to fold his uniform, placing each item of clothing on top of the other in a neat pile. 

“So, did the serum naturally just add four inches, or did you ask Erskine for a special request? Because you know I won’t be able to take all of that,” Bucky said, fighting the urge to stare at Steve’s enhanced bulge. 

Steve hesitated mid-fold and scrunched his eyebrow. “Excuse me?” 

Bucky shook his head and walked deeper into the tent, his hands in his pocket. “Nothing, nothing. I, uh... I was just wondering how they gave you the serum?” 

Steve explained the whole process, forgetting about Bucky’s comment. 

“Sounds complicated,” Bucky said. “That Erskine must’ve been a genius. I don’t expect he warned you of any possible, uh, side effects of the serum before he died?” 

Steve looked down at his body again. “Aside from this?” he laughed. “No. Why do you ask?” 

Bucky exhaled and looked down. “There were things before. Things about us... things I didn’t know if you remembered or not.” 

“Of course, I did. You’re my best friend. That’s why I couldn’t leave you behind at Schmidt’s Hydra base.” 

Bucky kicked the ground “It’s not just that. It’s...” 

“What, Buck?” 

Bucky leaned in to kiss Steve, but before their lips touched, Steve grabbed his arms and flung him back. “Bucky, what are you doing?” Steve asked, a bewildered look on his face. 

“Nothing. I’m sorry, Steve. I think I’ve had too much to drink. You know how that goes,” Bucky said, his eyes misting. 

“It’s ok. It happens to the best of us.” 

“Not to mention whatever Zola did to me. Still feeling a little loopy.” 

“It’s ok. I understand. I know how long it took for me to adapt to the changes the serum had on me. And there’s no telling what Zola did to you, what experiments. I’m here for you, whatever you need.” 

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, thanks Steve.” 

“Now, I think we should both be getting some rest. I think Phillips and Carter have something planned for us tomorrow. No rest for the wicked.” 

Bucky saw his opportunity and seized it. “So... I saw Agent Carter leaving just as I walked up. What’s that all about?” 

Steve blushed. “Nothing yet, but hopefully one day,” Steve said. “She was the first person that really believed in me, even before the serum.” 

Bucky fought back his tears. He managed to say a quick goodnight before rushing out of the tent and letting his emotions burst out of him. He ran back toward the bonfire. He couldn’t go back to his own tent, not yet. He couldn’t chance that anyone would see him like this. Bucky stared into the dying embers of the bonfire, the glow just barely illuminating the tears that rolled down his face.


	17. The Bell-Shaped Herb

Steve awoke in a peaceful rustic hut. The large circular room that made up the inside of the hut was divided space-wise into distinct areas without walls: a bedroom in the far-right corner, a kitchen in the far-left corner, and a wide living room in front that spanned the width of the hut. 

Steve was lying in the center of the living room on a mound of blankets on the wooden floor. Encircling him was a hedge of perhaps fifty 4-foot-tall potted plants with majestic purple flowers resembling tulips, a glowing golden pistil at their center. It was the same plant from his dream, the plant that had sprouted from the pool of mercury after Bucky had ripped his face off. The same dream with the dread-locked man who rose from the Mercury and pointed his Snake-headed cane accusingly at Steve. 

Steve shook off the memory of the disturbing dream, instead concentrating on the one he’d just woken up from. But it hadn’t felt like a dream at all. Instead, it had felt like a memory, exactly how it’d felt after the dream of him and Bucky as kids. A memory that had been suppressed deep inside of him a long time ago. He thought about that night at the army base, after he’d completed his first successful mission as Captain America and had saved Bucky and his infantry from Schmidt and Zola’s Hydra base. He remembered that it was a night of celebration, but he’d forgotten about the encounter with Bucky until now, and the kiss he’d refused in disgust. Why hadn’t he remembered this? Was it the eighty years on ice that had locked this memory deep down inside of him until now, until he himself was beginning to have feelings for his best friend? And how accurate was the memory, if that’s indeed what it was? In it, he'd experienced that night in Bucky’s shoes, seeing what he saw, feeling what he felt, understanding his pain. Was it true? Did Bucky have feelings for him back then? And what about now? And was there some way that the serum had changed him, just like Bucky had thought in the dream? 

Steve lifted his head and sat up. As he did so, a small thin crystal fell off the top of his forehead and onto the ground. He picked it up. It had a transparent purple glow to it. 

“The Somnum crystal. It harnesses the power of the flowers.” Bucky emerged from the kitchen with a tray of tea and placed it on a small side table next to the couch. “In combination, the crystal and the flower help calm the wandering mind.” 

“Well, it didn’t work on me,” Steve said, rubbing his forehead, thinking about the dream. He rose up from the ground, noticing that his clothes had changed, now similar to Bucky’s. A long plaid blue tunic belted at the waist with a silver shawl covering his neck and torso. 

“I could get used to this,” Steve said, basking in the comfort of the outfit. 

“Before you know it, you’ll wonder why you ever wore pants, not to mention those uncomfortable uniforms we wear.” 

“And these?” Steve asked, looking down at the circular hedge of flowers as he twisted his way out of it. 

“The bell-shaped herb. A cousin of the heart-shaped herb, the vibranium-mutated flower that gives the Black Panther his strength. But the bell-shaped herb deals in the mind instead of the body. I’m sure you can guess why I have an abundance of them,” Bucky said. 

Steve nodded his head, making his way over to Bucky for a proper greeting. “Hi, Buck,” he said lovingly as he wrapped his arms around him, basking in his embrace. All Steve could think about was how long it had felt since his bad dreams had started, how long he’d feared for Bucky’s life. But it had only been a week, and now here he was in Wakanda, and Bucky was looking better and healthier than ever. 

They sat on the couch and Steve asked him about what had happened after he passed out. Bucky handed him a small cup of tea and began talking, saying that he’d brought Steve into his hut right away and sought help from the local Shaman down the road. That was yesterday. 

The Shaman had penetrated deep into Steve’s mind, reporting how weak and fragile it was, not to mention his body. Natasha gave the Shaman the syringe-bullet, explaining their theory about how the gunman had injected Steve with some sort of poison. They needed to get to Shuri right away in order to evaluate the remaining fluid in the syringe, she’d said. 

But the Shaman insisted that Steve was too weak to travel. He’d need to rest at least a few days, regain some of his strength. Whatever was coursing through Steve’s veins was indeed having an effect on him, but it could be counteracted through rest and meditation at least for the time being. Instead, the Shaman gave the syringe to one of his students, who would travel up north to the Golden City and give it to Shuri. 

In the meantime, the Shaman had insisted that Bucky help Steve over the next few days while he got to work on their other problem: the thousands of souls presumably locked in Hiro’s mind. 

“And you trust him, this shaman?” Steve asked, taking a sip of his tea. 

Bucky nodded. “He’s the reason I’m better, Steve. I’m not 100%. I don’t think I’ll ever be. But I know I haven’t felt like this since we were kids.” 

Steve thought about the dream when they were kids again. Bucky’s words echoed through his mind: “Can I call you my Kemosabe?” “Now that you’re my sidekick, I know you’ll be with me to the end of the line.” “Is that a totem pole in your pocket, Kemosabe?” Was it a dream, a memory, something else? 

Steve hid behind his tea cup, stealing glances into Bucky’s eyes when he could. Did he know something that Steve didn’t? 

It occurred to Steve how much Bucky had changed in just one week. But it wasn’t just that he had seemed better. It was something else, something Steve couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was the way Bucky dipped his head when he smiled, the way he moved his body, slowly, intentionally. It was like he’d seen some other plain of existence and had been told that everything was love and love was everything, like he’d ascended and discovered his higher purpose, like he himself was a Shaman. Was that how he’d infiltrated Steve’s dreams? Did he wield some power now that Steve was unaware of? 

“I thought Shuri was helping you,” Steve said. 

“She did, but technology can only go so far when the mind is involved. After she got rid of the organic component of the Winter Soldier programming, she sent me here with the Shaman. He’s helped me to rebuild myself, to rebuild my mind. He’s taught me so much, and I’ll teach you too,” Bucky smiled. 

“Where are the others?” Steve asked, the thought just occurring to him. 

“After the Shaman was comfortable last night that he’d done everything to help you, he left with Wanda and the dog. Sam went with them, and Natasha is staying in the quinjet.” 

Steve placed his cup of tea on the side table next to the couch. “The comms on the quinjet went down. That’s why we landed here in the first place. Are they up again?” 

Bucky shifted in his seat. “No, Steve. That’s the thing, all communications in Wakanda have been down for the past day. There isn’t anything wrong with the quinjet. It’s some kind of EMP, or something else, that was emitted that’s affected everything electrical across the country. You’re lucky the quinjet didn’t just shut down altogether and crash. It’s happened to other planes.” 

Steve furrowed his brow. “An EMP? Why? Bucky, what’s going on here?” 

“The locals are saying it’s because of civil unrest in the Golden City. Someone has challenged T’Challa for the throne, for the mantle of the Black Panther.” 

Suddenly Steve felt a fire light up inside of him, even against his best attempts to suppress it. He couldn’t help but feel the pull to want to do something, to help T’Challa in some way, to help Wakanda. Would he always respond like this, like a soldier, like a leader, like Captain America, forever? Was he just fooling himself when he’d decided that he was done with Captain America, that he’d never go back? 

But there was nothing he could do. Besides the fact that he was too weak, the Golden City was at least two-hundred miles north of their current location, and the EMP (or whatever it was) had grounded any plane from flying. And even if the quinjet could somehow continue to fly, there was no way to know exactly where they were going, and no way to tell where the Golden City bubble was and if it’s shields were up. The Shaman’s student had been forced to ride to the city on horseback, and even if he made it past the bubble, there was no guarantee that Shuri was alive or would be in any position to help them anytime soon. It seemed both sides were on their own for the time being, Wakanda left to fight their own civil war without the help of Steve Rogers and his team, and they themselves on their own, without the help of Shuri and the Wakandan technology they’d traveled so far to take advantage of. 

“It seems we traded one civil war for another,” Steve said, exhaling. He got up and paced the room, feeling the cold reality of the world again. Whatever they’d hoped to accomplish when they set their sights for Wakanda had all but gone down the drain. For starters, Bucky was fine and obviously didn’t need saving; Shuri and the Shaman had seen to that, not to mention Bucky himself. Second, there was no figuring out what Steve had been injected with, at least not anytime soon. And he had his doubts that the Shaman could help Hiro and Wanda, not to mention save all the residents of Flushing and return them to their homes. If Wanda couldn’t even do it herself, what were the chances that someone less powerful could? 

But none of this compared to Steve’s failure to gain insight into his feelings for Bucky now that he was here. There was no sudden declaration of love between either of them, and to top it off, Steve was starting to question how much of his best friend Shuri and the Shaman had brought back, and how much was someone else. Not to mention that it was becoming harder to determine what was a dream, what a memory, what was reality, and what was something else entirely. 

Steve felt dizzy, like he might faint again. He grabbed hold of the trunk of one of the bell-shaped herbs, trying to balance himself. He jerked his hand back just as quickly, a stinging feeling in his thumb. A drop of blood flowed down his thumb, and Steve battled through his breaths at the sight of it, because now he knew that this moment wasn’t a dream, and all of his struggles were real. 


	18. The Secret Garden

Bucky quickly brought Steve back to the couch and put a band-aid on his wound, informing him that the plants had small transparent thorns on their branches that often went undetected. The sight of the blood had reminded Steve that he was still alive, and that he still had something to fight for, people he cared for, a country he cared for. Steve fought through his exhaustion and fear, determined to make it through the day without passing out. 

Bucky’s hands grazed over Steve’s as he pressed the bandage in place. His hands were soft and clean, not like the hands of a trained assassin who had unwillingly and unconsciously taken hundreds, if not thousands, of lives. Steve’s neck twitched at Bucky’s touch, but whether out of love or fear, he didn’t know. He searched Bucky’s face as Bucky finished tending the wound, wondering who the man in front of him was. The man who had been through so much pain, who had been so lost and defeated, who had haunted Steve’s dreams, calling out to him in desperation. The man who had now seemed so calm, so rested, so at peace. Could one week in Wakanda have affected Bucky that much? Steve twisted his gaze away as Bucky finished, pretending to study the ceiling. 

“There,” Bucky said, patting Steve’s hand. “No more injuries, ok?” 

“Affirmative,” Steve said. 

Bucky released Steve’s hand and touched the bandages on his biceps. Steve flinched, the pain from his injuries still surprisingly potent. 

“Sorry,” Bucky said. “I thought I’d check to see if there was any improvement from yesterday.” 

“Obviously there isn’t,” Steve said, tensing his jaw. 

Bucky sensed Steve’s annoyance, his shortness. “Steve, you need to relax. You’re never going to get any better if you don’t at least try to calm your mind.” 

Steve sighed and shook his head. “Calm my mind? How am I supposed to do that with everything that’s going on?” 

Bucky sat up. “Because the people you love are taking care of things. You’ve sacrificed your life for them time and time again, now let them do the same for you. Trust them... trust me. You don’t need to be Captain America right now. You just need to be Steve, and I’ll be Bucky.” 

It was as if Bucky had read Steve’s mind, as if he had granted Steve’s one wish he’d hoped for against all odds: that they could live their lives as Steve and Bucky and pretend that the outside world didn’t exist. But wishing was one thing, and reality was another. Could Steve really forget about all the people who needed his help and put aside all the pain and suffering he’d caused, not to mention endured, even for a few days, in order to regain his strength? And could he trust Bucky? 

Bucky continued: “Part of the healing process regarding my winter soldier programming was learning how to accept the things that are out of my control. I’ll have to deal with the horrible things I did for the rest of my life. The people I hurt, the pain I caused. Even though I wasn’t in control of my mind or my actions, I’ll always have those memories. It will always feel like me that did it. But the first step to healing is wanting to get to better, and putting all of your effort toward that goal.” 

Steve shook his head, knowing that he didn’t have any other choice. He knew there were things that were out of his control: whatever was going on with Wanda and Hiro, the thousands of lives that hung in the balance in Hiro’s mind, the supposed impending Wakandan civil war to the north of them, and his weakening body and mind as a result of the gunman’s bullet. He knew he’d have to leave all of that behind if he stood a chance at healing. He swallowed, ready to move forward, and asked: “So, where do we begin?” 

After they finished their tea, Bucky said it was time to accelerate Steve's healing process. The Somnum crystal and the small hedge of bell-shaped herbs was a start, but it was only designed to ease the sleeping mind, not the waking one. They’d have to set their sights on bigger goals, and Bucky knew just the place. 

Outside, the sun had just risen above the horizon and left a blinding glare off the lake. The light pierced through Steve’s eyes as he stepped out of the hut behind Bucky. Behind the hut lied the edge of the forest, and Steve followed Bucky hesitatingly into it. 

“Careful where you step. There's a whole hidden ecosystem in the underbrush,” Bucky said. “Snakes, especially.” 

Steve was no stranger to nature. He’d been stationed all over the world during his time in the war and with the Avengers. He knew all of its tricks, and was rarely enchanted or surprised by its beauty anymore. But there was something different about the Wakandan forest. It was the way the colors seemed to glow, even though the density of the vegetation only allowed twinkles of light through. The way that, even amongst the shadows, the underbrush radiated life, and the moss on the trees shimmered like a soft ripple across still water. It was the way the pink flowers stood out against the vines that wrapped around the trees and travelled across the forest overhead, the way that single petals as large as plates hung from the vegetation above. 

Steve couldn’t help but feel calmed by the forest's beauty. He continued to follow Bucky deep into the forest, his steps a little lighter. About ten minutes later, Bucky suddenly stopped at the edge of the forest as they came upon a clearing. The sunlight from the clearing shone through the forest like a million spotlights, begging them to come through. 

Bucky taught Steve some breathing exercises as they stood there. He’d need to be in the right state of mind when stepping into the clearing. Any negativity, any doubts, could render the experience useless, and could set him further behind in his healing. Steve breathed in deep, taking comfort in the calm of the forest upon his exhales. When they finally stepped into the clearing, its beauty took Steve’s breath away. 

In front of them was the beginning of about ten rows of hedges of bell-shaped herbs, each soaring into the air about fifteen feet. It was as if they were looking upon a cross-section of a giant magnificent enchanted vineyard. The hedges grew up from the clearing floor, wrapping densely around a wooden lattice framework, too dense for any light to escape between each row. In between the hedges were wide walkways, and dispersed against the perimeter were stone benches, one every fifty feet or so, a place to rest and gaze at the wonder of it all. The walkways were too long to clearly see anything at the far end, but it appeared to open up to another clearing, a faint twinkle at the end. A pergola soared twenty feet up into the air above the top of the hedges. Thin vines wrapped around the pergola trellis, leaving enough holes in the growth so that the sunlight shone down unobstructed. White flowers grew from the vines and the vines dangled down from the pergola like Tarzan’s rope, too high to touch. 

“Buck...” Steve said in amazement, his voice catching in his throat. 

“It’s something, isn’t it? It’s called the secret garden. It’s enchanted by the local shamans so that only one party can access it any given moment, meaning we’ll have it all to ourselves. No interruptions.” 

Steve walked closer to the hedges, gazing at the magnificent purple flowers, so dense against the hedges that barely any green shrubbery came through. “The bell-shaped herb?” he asked. Just like the ones in his dream and the ones he’d woken up surrounded by earlier. 

Bucky nodded. “In their natural habitat. Their potency here is pure and unmatched. No need for harnessing crystals.” 

A slight hint of uneasiness penetrated through Steve’s amazement. Again, he thought of the dream of Bucky ripping his face off, the purple-flowered plant rising up underneath, the dread-locked man materializing out of the mercury pools, his snake cane. Was it an omen? Should he warn Bucky? 

Steve studied Bucky, searching him for some hint that he knew more than he was letting on, that he knew about Steve’s dreams, that he had implanted them himself. But there was nothing. Bucky looked exactly like he’d looked ever since Steve had woken up earlier: cool, calm, uncharacteristically stable. “So, what now?” Steve asked. 

“We walk,” Bucky said. “Each of us walks through our own path. It’s about a half-mile. There are benches at the end of the path. Depending on which one of us finishes first, the other can wait there. It’s best to let the herbs guide your thoughts. They’ll search your mind and put you at ease. First, they’ll enhance a happy memory for you, then they’ll provide you with an idealized vision of your future, something to motivate you to go on. You can walk the whole time, or take breaks if you want. Take however long you need, Steve. It’s an intense experience, but you’ll come out better for it.” Bucky paused, then added: “Try your best to push down all your negative thoughts. It’s rare, but sometimes a negative memory can take over. If that happens and you can’t get yourself out, just yell. I’ll be in the path right next to you.” 

Steve nodded. 

“Good luck,” Bucky said, and squeezed Steve’s shoulder before walking away and down the path to Steve’s right, disappearing into the hedges. 

Steve started down his own path, stepping one foot in front of the other as the hedge walls towered over him. The purple flowers swayed back and forth, and their glowing golden pistils seemed to whisper at him, hypnotizing him forward into a promise of pure bliss.


	19. Coney Island

Coney Island July 1st , 1936 

Steve strolled along the crowded boardwalk, Bucky to his right. The warm summer night on Coney Island was alive with fluorescent lights, food vendors, rollercoasters. It took every ounce of strength within Steve not to take Bucky’s hand in his own. Every so often their pinkies grazed one another, sending Steve into wild bursts of desire. Bucky smirked with each graze, his eyes sharing Steve’s passion. 

“You up for a ride on the cyclone?” Bucky asked, knowing fully well what happened last time. 

“Not a chance,” Steve said. “Plus, we just ate.” Three hot dogs each, to be exact. 

“Aww, does the little baby have a tummy ache? Is the baby scared?” 

Steve punched Bucky in the arm. “I’m not falling for that one again. I’d like to keep my dinner this time, thank you.” 

Bucky laughed. “So, what then? The night is still young.” He looked at his watch and reconsidered. “Well, relatively young.” 

The crowd was beginning to thin when Bucky pulled Steve to a secluded area behind the bathrooms and pinned him up against the wall. “I know exactly what I want to do,” Bucky said, kissing Steve’s neck. 

Steve tried to stifle his moans, but they came out anyways. As for the growth in his pants, there was no stopping that. It inflated to its full capacity and embraced the stiffness of its equal poking into it. 

“Right here?” Steve asked through heavy breaths. 

“Why not?” Bucky said, smiling a devilish grin. 

“Oh, I dunno. Because if we get caught we’ll be thrown in jail, not to mention burned at the stake.” 

Bucky shrugged. “I’m cold as ice. I can take the heat,” he said, unzipping Steve’s pants. 

“Well, I can’t. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly in the best shape to defend myself in jail, not like you.” Steve stopped Bucky’s hand and redid his zipper. 

Bucky backed off, slightly offended. “Don’t you trust me to defend you?” 

“I don’t want you to have to defend me, Buck. I want to do it on my own.” 

“Not this again,” Bucky said, twisting his head. 

Steve closed his eyes. “You don’t understand what it feels like to have this body.” 

“That doesn’t matter to me. You know it doesn’t.” 

“No, but it matters to me,” Steve said, opening his eyes. “To not be taken seriously by the world. To be told that I’m less of a man because of it.” 

“Fuck the world,” Bucky said, throwing his hands up. “It’s just you and me. Just us to the end of the line, remember?” 

Steve shook his head. “High school’s over, Buck. We’re growing up fast and the world is demanding that we join it, whether we like it or not. You’ll be starting at the steel mill soon, and I…” Steve trailed off. “… I don’t even know I’m going to do.” 

“Graduation was barely a week ago. Give yourself some time. The summer, at the very least. You’ll figure it out,” Bucky said and grabbed Steve’s hand, adding: “We’ll figure it out.” 

Steve took a deep breath and nodded, taking comfort in Bucky’s words. 

“Come on,” Bucky said, leading him back onto the boardwalk. “I know exactly what we’re going to do.” 

Twenty minutes later they were taking their seats next to each another on the Ferris wheel. As soon as they took off, Bucky wrapped his foot around Steve’s. The ride clicked as they rose up, the Coney Island skyline steadily starting to come into view. When they were high enough so that they couldn’t be seen by the people below, Bucky interlocked their hands together. 

Steve took a quick glance at the carts in front and behind them, ensuring that no one could see. 

Bucky noticed Steve’s hesitation. “Steve, people have sex up here. We’re fine.” 

Steve nodded and allowed himself to inch closer to Bucky. 

“Do you remember when we were little and we used to play war with the neighborhood kids?” Steve asked, looking off into the night sky. 

Bucky smiled. “Yeah, of course,” he said, and saluted Steve. “Sergeant Barnes present and reporting, Captain Rogers, sir.” 

Steve swiped Bucky’s hand away. “I know it sounds silly, but I felt more alive back then, like I knew what I was doing, like I had a purpose.” 

“I’m not above playing war with you tonight, Steve. Anything you need. I’m sure we could gather up some of the neighborhood crew for old-time sake.” 

Steve shook his head. “It’s not that. It’s...” he trailed off, releasing his hand from Bucky’s and leaning forward onto the metal bar, his head down. “It’s funny, back when we were little, when I wasn’t any shorter or skinnier than anyone else, people actually listened to me. I was the kid who knew where all the good spots to play were. I was the one who knew that Main Street was blocked off every other weekend, that it wasn’t safe to play by the bridge because of the construction. But then we grew up...” Steve said, sighing, shifting his arms on the bar. “...and all of a sudden people stopped taking me seriously, all because puberty didn’t take.” 

“Steve...” Bucky said. 

“But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m still that kid. I’m still that kid who just wants to help, who just wants everyone to have a good time, who just wants to do the right thing. What will it take for people to start taking me seriously again?” 

Bucky grabbed Steve’s hands and kissed them. “You’ll find your purpose, I promise. And when you do, everyone will be better for it. I believe in you, and I’d follow your lead any day.” 

They were starting to come upon the apex of the Ferris wheel. Steve and Bucky turned their heads to gaze straight ahead at the brilliant New York City skyline against the horizon. 

“It’s something, isn’t it?” Bucky said. He turned his head back to Steve and breathed in. “The world is a huge place, Steve. I don’t deny that fact. And I know you’re scared for the future. Heck, I’m scared too. I don’t know what’s going to happen, or where I’ll end up, where we’ll end up. But whenever I feel overwhelmed, I always think to myself What would Steve do? and it brings me back down to Earth. Now, I’m not saying you should think the same thing about me. Heck knows I’ve probably made more mistakes in my short eighteen years than anyone has in a full lifetime. Asking yourself What would Bucky do is more likely a recipe for disaster.” 

Steve laughed at Bucky’s last comment, his eyes beginning to well. 

Bucky continued, “But I believe in us. I believe in our love. Just take a look at where we are.” Bucky shook his head in amazement at the view, at how small it all seemed. “We’re in the best country in the world in the best city in the world. Just two queers from Brooklyn, who somehow managed to find one another. I want you to remember that the next time the world feels too big for you. Remember that we were here, above it all, just me and you. And there’s nothing we can’t do if we do it together.” 

At this point the tears were readily flowing down Steve’s face. He wiped them away with his forearm and sunk closer into Bucky, wrapping his arms around him and kissing him without a care in the world who saw. The world in that moment stopped around them. It was just Steve and Bucky and the skyline and no one else. Bucky’s tongue felt slick and warm in Steve’s mouth, and he felt the urge to have Bucky’s tongue all over his body. 

“I love you,” Steve said breathlessly as he leaned out of the kiss, his forehead rested against Bucky’s. 

Bucky smiled and said “I love you too.”


	20. The Beach

Steve trudged forward through the hedges, the memory weighing down his heart. He reached a bench and exhaled as he sat down, the world continuing to spin. The path forward looked infinite, like he might never reach the end. But the path behind looked even longer, and he racked his brain trying to figure out how long he’d been walking along the path and if he’d walked throughout the entire course of the memory. He must have, he figured. 

The purple flowers among the hedges swayed back and forth as if alive in the breezeless path. Steve looked up and saw the vines hanging from the pergola trellis high above, begging to be mounted. If he could reach them, he’d surely grant them their wish. He’d grip the vines and ascend far up into the sky. Anything to feel the breeze on his face, to see the view from above, to get him as close as he could to that memory of being on top of the world with Bucky. And this time it was a memory. There was no question about it. Bucky had even said so himself—the flowers would enhance a memory of his, make it stronger. 

Steve closed his eyes and imagined himself back at Coney Island again, back on the Ferris wheel, kissing Bucky, taking comfort in his words. He was surrounded by the potential of the night, by the warmth of Bucky’s touch. The smell of popcorn and funnel cake overtook him, and the sounds of the ocean crashing onto the beach beyond the boardwalk filled him. He opened his eyes and saw the New York City skyline set against the night in front of him and all around him, as if projected against the hedges and the path, giving texture to the image. Above him the stars twinkled and oscillated with the movement of the vines. 

The scene stopped Steve’s heart, and the world came to a still in that long path in the middle of an enchanted clearing in the Wakandan forest. Steve wiped away his tears just like he’d done in the memory, grateful for the beauty in front of him and what it represented. His love, their love, more real now than Steve had ever known, but somehow taken from them, somehow lost and forgotten a long time ago. But now it was coming back, rising to the surface. And now the image of the skyline in front of him reminded him that there was nothing him and Bucky couldn’t do if they did it together. He’d get through this, whatever it was, whatever was happening to him, and he’d get Bucky through it too, and they’d come out stronger because of it, just like they always had. 

As if reading his mind, a long vine twisted down from the pergola trellis and hovered just above the path in front of him. It hung there in the stillness, waiting for him to take hold of it. Steve obliged, grabbing the vine and holding onto it as it elevated him up into the night sky. 

But suddenly the scene in front of him dissipated and he was transported to a beach far away from Wakanda. It was a bright day and he was walking parallel to the beach hand in hand with Bucky. They were steps from the tide, their bare feet leaving footprints in the wet sand as they strolled forward. 

Bucky was about ten years older, with short hair, a plain white t-shirt, and light jeans. He looked calm and peaceful, similar to how he’d looked in Wakanda. But the subtle wrinkles in his smile told of another emotion as well—happiness. Something Steve hadn’t seen in Wakanda. 

Every now and then a seagull flew by overhead and squawked softly, approving of their love. Past the beach were magnificent green cliffs, and in the distance, an inviting white house nestled at the top. 

Steve squeezed Bucky’s hand, never wanting to let go. He looked down to see that his long tunic and shawl had been replaced by jeans and a t-shirt. His shirt flapped in the soft breeze coming off the ocean. 

The moment seemed as real to Steve as anything else, but he knew that it was an illusion, the perfect vision of the future that his mind had conjured up. He knew he was only walking along the path of hedges back in Wakanda, coming closer and closer to the end. He knew that Bucky wasn’t by his side holding his hand, but instead in the path next to him, and that he had been changed somehow since arriving in Wakanda. Still Bucky, yes, but not yet whole, not yet happy, like he was here. 

But Steve didn’t care that it was an illusion. Part of him wanted to walk on the beach forever, feeling Bucky’s warmth against his hand, knowing that all that mattered was their love. 

“Nat and Clint should be here in an hour or so. We should start up the Bar B Que soon,” Bucky said, guiding them forward. 

“Nat and Clint?” Steve asked. 

Bucky scrunched his face at Steve’s confusion. “Yeah, our dinner plans, remember?” 

Steve pretended to remember. “Of course,” he said, shaking his head. “Where are they coming from?” Steve asked, trying to draw out as much information as he could before the illusion ended. 

“I’d imagine the Avengers compound just up the road,” Bucky said slowly, looking at Steve curiously. 

“Duh,” Steve said, playing it off. 

“Did you hit your head cliff diving again?” Bucky asked, stopping for a moment to feel Steve’s head for bruises. “I thought I told you I wasn’t comfortable with you doing that anymore.” 

Steve looked into Bucky’s eyes as he inspected him. He tried to hold back the tears that were forming, but the weight was too strong. The tears came flowing down like streams. 

Bucky pulled his hands back from Steve’s forehead and saw the tears. “Steve, are you ok?” 

Steve nodded his head. “Yeah,” he said, wiping the mess away from his face. “I just never imagined that we could end up like this, like--” 

Steve’s words were cut short by barks coming from behind them. Steve turned to see Hiro running up the beach towards them, his coat blending in with the sand. 

“There you are!” Bucky said, leaning down to greet Hiro. 

Steve’s eyes widened at the sight of the dog, and his heart grew larger. He crouched down and took the dog in his arms, letting his hands glide through the dog’s fur. “He’s alive,” Steve said through his tears. “And he’s cured.” 

“Of course he’s alive,” Bucky said, slowly rising up and looking side-eyed at Steve, cautious now. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on with you?” Bucky asked. 

Steve only partially processed Bucky’s words through his excitement. It was all too much being here, having Bucky back, having Hiro back, his friends, being in paradise. The illusion had started to fade. Now it was real, it was his real future, and he needed to know more, about how it all ended, about how they got here. “And Wanda? Flushing? Did we save all those people?” 

Bucky looked off into the distance at the cliffs beyond the beach. “You know we don’t talk about that,” he said. 

Steve let go of Hiro and lurched forward at Bucky, gripping his shirt in his hands. “Please tell me we set things right, that thousands of people didn’t die on my watch. Please, Bucky.” 

But Steve didn’t need to hear anything else from Bucky. His face said it all. “I don’t know what to tell you, Steve.” 

Steve released his grip on Bucky’s shirt. The shirt glided through his fingers, but he couldn’t feel it, he couldn’t feel anything. Was that the price of his happily ever after? A whole city decimated? Suddenly the doubt was rising up in Steve again, the doubt that anything was real, that the memory of Coney Island was real, that their relationship had been real, that their relationship could be real. 

“Coney Island, the Ferris wheel. Did that happen? Was that real?” Steve asked. 

“Every moment,” Bucky said. 

Steve racked his brain. What else did he need to know at the cost of shattering the illusion? What else couldn’t wait? “So why didn’t I remember it? Why did we get so lost over the years?” 

Bucky dropped his voice. “You know why,” he said. “Abraham Erskine.” 

Erskine, the creator of the serum. The dream of the night in Italy at the 107th precinct base flashed in Steve’s mind, the night after his first successful mission as Captain America during the war, when he’d saved Bucky and the rest of the men from Hydra. In the dream, Steve had felt Bucky’s emotions. Bucky had come into his tent that night and had tried to kiss him, but he rejected him. Bucky had been devastated, thinking that Erskine’s Serum had changed him. Had it? Is that what Bucky was referring to now? Had the serum caused him to forget about their relationship, to forget about Bucky? After the dream, Steve had woken up and remembered that night, had recalled the awkward incident with Bucky. It was real. A memory, not a dream. 

“You’re saying Erskine intentionally did this to me? That he erased all of my memories of us with the serum. But why? He was my friend.” 

Bucky looked down, not sure what to say. 

Steve felt the pounding in his chest rise, the sweat beginning to accumulate on his forehead, the dizziness. Not now, he thought. Please, just a little bit longer. 

Steve racked his brain again. If all this were true, if the serum had erased his memories, then why was he just now beginning to remember it all, after all these years? Then, like a punch to the gut, the image of the gunman came flashing back to him. The bullet that had lodged into his arm and had injected some kind of poison in him. The poison that had caused his body to weaken, that had pushed him to the edge. Was it possible that whatever was coursing through his veins had caused his memories to return? And how? 

Steve could feel himself growing weaker, could feel the heaviness in his arms. He looked down and saw that the bandages on his arms had returned, and his clothes were beginning to change back into the ones he wore on Wakanda, the long tunic, the shawl. All around him, the beach began to slowly dissolve, replaced by little windows of the Wakandan path, the purple flowers among the hedges, the vines up above, the stone benches against the hedged perimeter. And now, closer to the end of the path, a blinding silver light ahead. 

Steve gathered what little strength he had left within him and stumbled forward, grabbing at Bucky’s shirt collar again. “Who was the gunman? The one who shot me in Flushing?” Steve asked hurriedly. 

Before the illusion completely dissolved and gave way to the hedged path, Bucky responded, reluctantly. “You know who it was, Steve,” he said. Then, his head down, ashamed, “It was me.” And just like that, Bucky dissolved along with the rest of the illusion and Steve was back on the path in Wakanda. 


End file.
